The Devil's in the Details
by Vespered
Summary: Rathna is a very unusual succubus. When she is "summoned" by the human warlock Derion, hijinks ensue. This story is a mix of romance, humor, and adventure. Rated T for possible content intended for older audiences. Please read and review.
1. Meet Rathna

**The usual disclaimers apply. I don't own WoW, this is a work of fiction. I'm trying my hand at a little light humor.**

Most of you know succubuses. Succubeese. Succubi. Or whatever you call 'em. Not that I'm advising you call 'em, by the Light, I wouldn't even advise you call one of 'em. But I digress, which I do all the time. I digress like a goblin makes gold.

But back to the point now—I'm sure you've heard something about succubis. Maybe if you've been to one o' the great cities, Stormwind or Ironforge or maybe even Darnassus or the Exodar, you've seen one or two or seven hundred of them about, walking tamely beside their warlock master or mistress, but seething inside with some kind of boiling hatred…if you've seen one you've seen 'em all. Or almost.

You see, I'm going to tell you a story about one o'them succubuzzles, and it's all completely one hundred percent reliable. Okay well…some of it is true. Most o'it. I had to dress it up with a little embroidery here and there, pretty the tale up in places.

Anyway, there once was a succubus named Rathna. Funny sort o' a name, I think, rather sounds like a sneeze, but Rathna it was. If this were a true fairy tale, Rathna would have two sisters who made her do housework or she'd been living in a cottage with a multitude of dwarves. But as far as I know, succuboose don't have sisters, unless they're all sisters, which they really could be. And they don't do housework that I knows of, unless a warlock tells 'em to. And they certainly don't pal around with dwarves, though gnomes they seem to like okay.

Well, all that aside, this story concerns Rathna, and the story begins around the founding of Theramore, when the greenskin…I mean the orc Thrall became Warchief of the Horde…oops again, I mean the Durotar Institute for Equality and the Serious Community Unity Movement, or as we Alliance call it, the DI ESC UM. I think that's Orcish for "Peace," said that way, they've become so _nice _since that young Garrosh took over…anyway! There once was a succubus named Rathna, which sounds like a limerick, only nothing rhymes with Rathna.

Rathna was beautiful, like all succubusses are beautiful, but she was not the most beautiful succubus, nor was she even in the top billion. Her legs were just a little too short, her hair was just a little too dull, her smile was just not quite wicked or sharp enough. She passed every task they set before her, but not with high marks, because she wasn't real good at it, see? Except for Conversation. She was great at Conversation, not because she was so flirtatious, but because she was so intelligent. For a succubus, anyway.

Like all succubi, Rathna had to pass an exam in order to be ready to become part of the Burning Legion's forces. Mostly they use subterfuge, you know, eventually controlling their warlock and pushing them into Legion schemes. Or trying to, anyway. O'course, some of them fight on the front lines. Nasty things to face, succubuzzes.

"Your Conversation was good," her teacher, Instructress Gaznira, told her afterward. "But your Seduction could use some work. You're a little awkward, a little clumsy. But you passed."

When two years had gone by since the exams, Rathna started getting annoyed. Izthna had been summoned, Thiarna had been summoned, even Ashushna had been summoned accidently when a warlock had a horrible sneezing fit on account of getting knee-deep in a bed of Goldthorn he was picking. Everyone, even the felguards, had laughed about that. And of course, Faerna had been summoned. She was considered the most beautiful of all succubills that were or ever will be, in part because of her rare silvery eyes. Strangely enough, Rathna had the same silvery eyes.

"You'll know when your time comes," Instructess Gaznira had tried to console Rathna. "Be patient. Soon you will be able to convert a warlock to the glories of serving the Burning Legion!" But Rathna was very anxious to be summoned. The longer she went without, the longer she had to endure the taunting of her fellows. And the longer she had to endure that taunting, the more she hated her fellows, and the rest of the Burning Legion. It's like them people what run off to join the Defias Brotherhood; they don't feel like the fit in anywhere else. So it was with Rathna.

One day, Instructress Gaznira showed up in Rathna's bedroom.

"Mother Gaznira!" Rathna said, jumping to her (cloven) feet and snapping her whip to her left side.

The Instructress surveyed Rathna with consternation. "Why is it that you only do the salute correctly after you are no longer my pupil?" Rathna opened her mouth to speak, but the Instructress cut her off. "It's a rhetorical question, Rathna. Now. There's a warlock we think may be trying to summon you. Do you remember what you practiced?"

"Forcing? I do. Must I go now?" asked Rathna.

"You must!" Instructress Gaznira replied decisively. "Close your eyes, and remember what I taught you."

Rathna closed her eyes and concentrated on pushing her way through the Twisting Nether. She heard winds howling about her ears all dreadful-like, and all manner of spots, in lurid reds and pinks and oranges, flashed behind her still-closed eyes. She felt a dreadful squeezing sensation and the howling grew to a fever pitch. Then just as suddenly, all was quiet. Her feet were on solid ground. She was in a darkened room.

Rathna opened her eyes then, thinking she would find something like a circle of warlocks summoning creatures of fel power, or maybe even just one lone warlock poring over books of lore, mumbling long-forgotten incantations and cantrips to himself (or herself, Rathna reflected—maybe a female warlock would be easier to deal with?). But what she found surprised her.

She was in a bedroom. On the bed was a human male of indeterminate age. His hair was still mostly dark, with a few grey streaks throughout. The stubble on his chin was dark as well. He was snoring loud enough to wake the dead.

"Did you summon me?" Rathna demanded of the sleeping man, but all she got in response was a sleepy grunt. Suddenly irritated, she leapt onto the bed in one fluid motion and shook him.

"I said, did you summon me!" she roared in his face. "Five…more…minutes…" the man replied sleepily, then rolled over, loosening her grip and causing her to fall off the bed onto the floor in a heap of succubus in high dudgeon. Rathna picked herself up, brushed herself off, and stalked over to a corner to sit on an enormous, jumbled pile of books. She trained her silvery eyes on the man in the bed and thought to herself, _He'll have to wake up sooner or later. _She got as comfortable as she could, and prepared to wait as long as she had to, until the man awoke.


	2. Meet Derion

So's last time I told you about Rathna the succubus, and how she were supposedly summoned, and all about she ended up in a dark room staring all night at some slob snorin' away.

Well now, I can't really go further in the story without telling you about Derion, otherwise known as the man in the bed, otherwise known as the warlock. Who was in the bed. Sleepin', you know.

Of course, like every warlock except for the brand-new ones, Derion had not begun his career as a warlock. He had been a mage, and a crashin' good one, too! He got awards for his conjured cinnamon rolls two years in a row at the Stormwind City Bake-off and Hog Festival, at least until a few nosy goodwives saw him Evocate and he was barred from all such contests in all the human realms (except Dalaran, where this behavior was a matter of course).

The problem Derion ran into as a mage was the problem of almost. He were almost the best pupil in his classes, he were almost chosen to the Council of the Six in the Kirin Tor, he almost arrived in time to keep Arthas from killing Uther the Lightbringer. After the last, he said "dash it all," though he probably used words worse than what I just said, and spent months in deep study of dark and evil magics—then he emerged as the Alliance's foremost warlock.

He didn't realize it, o'course, but he was a careless, studious kind of handsome. Add that to his formidable reputation and his refusal to join any guild (even a couple o'Horde guilds made serious offers) and it were easy to see why women threw themselves at him. Sometimes literally. (Nydrinde Duskwind, a night elf warrior-princess sort of a girl, once used her Intervene ability on him randomly in Darnassus, figuring that the best first impression was the impression of her body ramming into his. Trust me, it weren't sensual.)

Luckily for him though, our lad Derion had a sense of humor despite his basic "lone wolf" persona. Luckily for everyone else around him too—he once grew so angry at a flag carrier in the Warsong Gulch that he incinerated the hunter himself. (O'course, that actually worked in his favor because the several Horde who witnessed the incident fled screaming, bellowing, shrieking, and inexplicably, clucking. The Horde are strange and wonderous.)

All in all, Derion was a fine prize of a man for someone who gave up turning people into sheep and then running away for the joys of annihilating people by fire, summoning demons, and scaring people so badly they ran around in blind terror (the last was a great party trick, I can tell yas).

It was morning before he woke, late morning at that. He stretched luxuriously, like a panther, and yawned (also like a panther). He hoisted himself into a sitting position on the bed and stretched again. Just as he reached for his robes, he heard an unfamiliar female voice piercing the gloom of the darkened room.

"About time you woke up." Her accent was at once harsh and fluid, is what he thought. And he didn't know what she was, which made him a mite nervous, as you can guess. But the type of man Derion was, well, he always buried his fear under nonchalance and panache. It's why many people feared him: how terrible must the man who never seems scared be?

Anyway, he went through the motions of normal dressing, figuring if she was going to kill him, he would've been dead as he slept, or would be dead soon anyway. He even tied the sash of his robe with a flourish and put on his blackest, shiniest black shiny boots. He threw back the window curtains before turning towards the corner where the voice had come from. And guess who he saw there? Our Rathna!

"And what, if I may ask, is a succubus doing in my room?" Derion inquired, a touch haughty, a touch sarcastic. "Have I offended a fellow warlock, or attracted the attention of the Burning Legion? Or perhaps you're going door-to-door selling flying brooms?"

The succubus (that would be Rathna) reddened. Derion was intrigued; he had never imagined that succubis could blush. "No!" she cried. "You summoned me, and when I got here you were asleep. So I waited for you to wake."

Derion looked her over more carefully. He thought that she was either very stupid, or she considered him very stupid. He decided to tread carefully.

"I didn't summon you. I was sleeping," he told her cautiously. Surprisingly, her eyes began to glisten. Derion squinted at her. _Surely she's not going to cry, _he thought. You see, a demon crying is like Tyrande marrying Sargeras, or a hunter doing something intelligent. It never happens, and if it does happen, you begin to doubt your senses. Well, demons do cry, but it's from laughter while you writhe in agony. Nevertheless, she did look as if she was about to cry. Derion squelched any instinct he had to comfort her. For Light's sakes, she was a succubus, it weren't like she were a babe in the wood!

"If you didn't summon me, who did?" Rathna choked out. She was beginning to think her people were playing some kind of practical joke on her, and she didn't find it one bit funny.

Derion just looked at her for a moment. She seemed sincere, which only confused him more. "I don't know," he said after a moment. "There aren't any other warlocks in this inn. There aren't any other warlocks in town that I know of. Either you missed the mark big, or something odd is going on." He paused for another moment. Rathna looked absolutely distraught. In order to distract her, he asked the fateful question: "What is your name?"

"Rathna," she replied. And that, my dears, is when everything changed.


	3. Dropping Names

Ah, you're back again...I realize I left you on a bit of a cliff hanger, there. Well, Rathna had revealed her own true name to Derion, which weren't no smart move, if you're askin' me. See, the thing about demons is that their names are powerful. Now, I'm not sayin' names like yours and mine aren't powerful, but demons are especially sensitive to their name, see? Names for demons are chosen carefully an' all.

Well, Derion now knew her name was Rathna, and when he said it, it gave him power over her. For instance, he couldn't really read her mind, but he could tell her emotions, and if he directed his mind sufficiently, he would know whether she was lying or telling the truth.

And there was the problem. Rathna realized her mistake the same instant Derion did, the very instant that he became aware of her in his mind and she became aware of his awareness. It were like the ripples from two separate dropped stones in the same lake colliding. Rathna immediately tried to send herself back into the Twisting Nether—and that's when she realized something very frightening.

Her teachers had always taught her how to get to worlds from the Twisting Nether. They had never taught her to return.

She became scared, which in turn made her angry. Derion, bless him, didn't make that any easier. He laughed...and he laughed at her! Now, the lads among you, you either know now or will soon know that one thing you don't do is laugh at a woman if you value your liver. It's just one o'them life lessons, like those young tauren what jump off Freewind Post for fun. And for succubeezles, double that. They're twice the woman of any mortal woman bar none.

"What are you laughing at?" she demanded. Her imperious tone just made him laugh harder.

"You're not a very good succubus, are you?" Derion asked, clutching his sides.

"As if you're an amazing warlock!"

"I am. I have all kinds of tricks. Look at this one." He rummaged in his robes quickly and suddenly there was a loud CRACK and the room was filled with white smoke and an acrid smell like burned eggs. Rathna was coughing, and so was Derion.

"What's the commotion?" A squeaky, unhappy voice. Derion rolled his eyes, but Rathna couldn't see them on account of all the smoke. She couldn't even open her own eyes by now. Derion picked his way to the door and threw it open.

"Derion! Thandoril! Which one of you was it?"

Across the hall from Derion's room, a door opened. "What's the matter?" a deep, sleepy voice said.

"Derion!" the squeaky voice shouted. "I should've known! One more explosion like that, and you'll be sent packing and no mistake!"

"Who is that?" Rathna wondered aloud. You see, she did not recognize the accent or the sound of that voice at all, and she was very sure her teachers had been very thorough on the subject of the known races.

"It's a goblin," Derion answered wearily. "Roxie. She's the innkeeper."

"Who's in your room, Derion, you feckless rake?" Thandoril asked. Night elves always talk like that, like they're standing with a lexicon in one hand, ready to use any word they think you won't know. But they're good folks otherwise, just make sure you bring your own lexicon to talk with them.

"Who is THAT?" Rathna asked, standing on her tip-hooves to get a better look. It was prettier than it sounds. For once, Rathna looked graceful.

"No one," Derion hastily answered. He made to close the door.

"Is that a night elf woman?" Thandoril exclaimed, catching sight of Rathna's silvery eyes through the gloom and the smoke still escaping from Derion's open door. He moved closer. "She may be one of my cousins, Derion, you sly rapscallion!"

Then Thandoril got a better look at Rathna. "Oh!" he said in surprise. Then his face fell. "Oh," he repeated, crestfallen. "A demon. A succubus. I should've known better." He scurried back to into his room and shut the door with a snap.

"Who is that?" Rathna asked again, confused and not a little hurt. It's never nice to be immediately disliked, especially when you weren't properly introduced first.

"That was Thandoril. He's a druid I've been questing with in the area. Needed to make a bit of coin and all that," Derion said.

"Coin? For what?" Rathna asked.

Derion chose not to answer. A half-smile quirked the corner of his mouth. "I think my last piece of business here needs to be completed now. I've probably lost Thandoril as assistance. But no matter. You'll do fine." He began to perform a complicated spell. With a flash of bright purple light, an imp stood before him, motionless for a moment, then leaping and cavorting. "This is my imp, Daznok. I hope you too get along...but if you don't, I'll turn you both into soul shards."

"Pretty lady!" the imp crowed, standing on his head.

Rathna sighed. First she hadn't been summoned, and now she had to work with an imp. This had to be the most elaborate practical joke ever.


	4. Darkwhisper Gorge

The next day found Derion chivvying Daznok and Rathna along the road leading away from Everlook before the sun was even properly up. They were making the long trek to the other end of the area, to a place called Darkwhisper Gorge. It sounds all poetic, don't it? Well, at that point it were full of demons clamoring to get into Mount Hyjal and do whatever it is demons have been trying to do to Hyjal since time immemorial. I think it's because everyone's fascinated by night elves, especially the females who dance unclothed on the mailboxes. I saw a whole troupe of those in Darnassus once, when I were younger—they called themselves the Pointy-Eared Postal Sisters, and you'd best believe they gave me a special delivery! ...but, I digress, yet again.

Anyway, Derion took Daznok and Rathnma all the way over there, and they walked the whole way, even though Derion was more than able to summon a mount. He was just one of those weirdos who likes walking through the snow. Anyway, Rathna was hoofing it along pretty good—get it? HOOFING IT? Because succubeetles have hooves?...well, tough crowd.

"I want to see what you can do," Derion told Rathna seriously as they neared the Gorge. Rathna thought it was bloody creepy how the only thing they'd seen alive at all past Everlook was some kind of owl. She found pretty much everything about Winterspring creepy, including Derion's enjoyment of the place

"What I can do?" Rathna replied distractedly, peering towards the darkening sky.

"I'm looking for something very powerful and very important," Derion said.

"Mmmhmm," Rathna said. She was nervous. She mightn't have been trusted with the classified information of the Burning Legion, but she could tell that her "sisters" were nearby.

"I think Lady Hederine will probably have it on her person," Derion went on blithely. Rathna nearly tripped over her hooves. Derion pretended not to notice. He was beautifully brought up in that way. He smiled at Rathna instead. "If you see or attract Lady Hederine, just lure her to me." His manner became more businesslike and brusque. "And you and Daznok need to bring me anything...unusual."

"What are we looking for?" Daznok asked in his shrill voice.

Derion scoffed. "You're summoned help. Or otherwise," he said, looking hard at Rathna. She blushed. They'd managed to have three more quarrels about whether or not he had summoned her, which had ended rather embarrassingly and clumsily for her. "Just bring me whatever you find," Derion continued, rolling his eyes up to the dark-purple-and-red striated sky. Rathna could just barely make out bestial shapes crawling on the ridges. Felhounds?

Daznok looked up at Rathna. He were decent, for an imp, and he could tell Rathna was scared. "I'll protect you." In his high piping voice, he sounded like a child of no more than 5.

"Thanks," Rathna replied, trying not to roll her eyes. It were hard. Succubusses and imps don't like each other normally.

Daznok eyed her thoughtfully, as they set off away from Derion. "Want to have a bit of fun at Dear Master's expense?"

Rathna narrowed her eyes. "Depends on the type of fun. The Legion needs him...at least I think they do." She sighed. "What are you thinking?"

Daznok giggled. "He told us to bring anything we found back. These cousins of ours here look like they might be carrying all SORTS of things."

Rathna got the point. She laughed heartily. "You're on."

It was more than two hours later when they trekked back to Derion. He had not gone far, but there was a pile of demon corpses arranged in a neat semicircle around him. He was red-faced and looking annoyed. _Good, _thought Rathna. _He's not found it yet._ _Whatever it is._

Derion's face cleared a little when he saw Rathna and Daznok approaching. "Did you find anything?" he said excitedly.

"Oh yes, Master," Daznok said seriously, taking out his pack. Rathna, suppressing snickers, took out hers as well. Both were fairly large and stuffed to the brim.

"Ah," Derion said, eyeing both packs with a twinge of apprehension. "Well, the thing I'm looking for will be rather small," he began, but they didn't let him finish. They opened both the packs and turned them up at his feet. Felhound hooves, Felguard weapon chains, pieces of hair and fur, as well as a couple of beaten-up Succubus whips fell at Derion's feet.

Derion looked at the pile of junk for a long moment without speaking. When he raised his eyes, Rathna nearly started back from the fury in them.

"Does ANY...of THIS...LOOK LIKE SOMETHING SPECIAL TO EITHER OF YOU?" Derion shouted so loudly echoes bounced off the ridges. Crows took off, cackling. Ironic that crows get annoyed by other creatures making loud noises, isn't it, the noisy buggers? Derion vented his spleen for a good five minutes, calling both Daznok and Rathna every name in the book but their own names, and I'll be switched if some of those names didn't have almost as much power as their own names. Daznok was redder than usual, and Rathna near tears, once Derion finished. It were the act of a desperate man. He ran down, panting, and turned away from them to catch his breath.

And an unseen voice purred, "That was an excellent show, human. But I've a score to settle with you for killing my brethren, and trust me, my wrath is much more potent than yours." Rathna spun around, along with Daznok and Derion, to face the owner of the voice.

It was Lady Hederine. She had a special smile for Rathna. It was all Rathna could do not to faint.


	5. On the Move

The journey from Winterspring to Stormwind City was a long one for Rathna. Partially this was due to the presence of the druid, Thandoril. After the long, protracted battle with Lady Hederine, Derion had looted the corpse and rushed back to Everlook to pack his belongings and go to Stormwind City. Thandoril had insisted that he was traveling with Derion and was even a bit put out about being left out of the adventure to Darkwhisper Gorge. However, he ignored Rathna completely, even going so far as to wander away wordlessly everytime she said more than two words.

To Rathna's delight, Derion summoned a felsteed the morning they left. She had never even seen one, but had heard so many stories about their beauty that she nearly clapped her hands like a child.

"Climb up behind me," Derion said, giving her a hand up. She wrapped her arms around him and inhaled the heady scent of his goblin-mixed cologne. Powerful stuff, that, and it brought about another problem.

You see, Derion's loot from Lady Hederine was not being delivered to just anyone. And he wore the cologne for this not-just-anyone, heedless of the effect it would have on the innocent people he might come across, especially Rathna. For they were only a couple of miles away from Everlook before Rathna was hopelessly, irrevocably in love with Derion Courdor.

Don't you say "ewww" at me, you urchins. I knew all of you when you were in diapers. And it's not that kind of story. If you will allow an old person to maunder and pontificate for jus' a mo', I want to explain to you about love potions, which Derion's cologne certainly was. This is one of those facts that alchemists, especially goblin alchemists, don't tell you, such as the fact that Elixir of Giant Growth does NOT work on some parts of one's anatomy...harrumph! Anyway, the point is, alchemists lie. A love potion certainly CAN make someone fall in love with you...but only if they're open to doing so in the first place. It can't change the mind of someone who has no intention of ever loving you, even if you came with a million gold pieces and an autographed Frostmourne. You see, in some respects, Derion was a very great fool.

For her part, Rathna was horrified to feel love for Derion, which she realized about the time they reached Ratchet and she single-handedly disemboweled a cow-faced warrior who had bellowed in rage and thrown a dagger at Derion (it missed, he was a low-level cow-face who hadn't spent any time with a training dummy) just before they got into town.

"Maybe I take back what I've been saying about your incompetence, Rathna," Derion had said, wide-eyed. Thandoril, by way of reaction, turned into a big cat of some kind and disappeared for awhile.

Rathna could only blush at the compliment. They're all like that, women. Tell them they're a killing machine and they get all pink and googly-eyed like a murloc.

The journey by boat was exciting for Rathna, who had never been able to imagine an ocean, no matter how many times she had come across the time in books. (Though admittedly, few of the books she read ever went on about oceans and such in great detail. But she could do sums and speak most Azerothian languages, including Draconic and Pandaren. So she was reasonably well-educated). She rarely slept while they sailed, opting instead to keep an eye on the porthole in the tiny berth she had to herself, or going up on deck to watch the ship's prow cutting through the water. I never heard before or since of any demon carryin' on like that. But as I told you before, Rathna was a rare one, and she was desperately drinking in all the new experiences this world had to offer, since she could not return home, for whatever reason. She did make the crew on edge, for sure; half were ogling her, and the other half were waiting for her to destroy the ship.

They made landing at Booty Bay, which was full of even more wonders. It was covered not just in goblins but representatives of many faces that Rathna had heard of, but never seen. She spied an orc chatting animatedly to a goblin. An orc! Their history was fascinating to her, all that drinking demon's blood and joining the Legion, and then breaking free! It was awe-inspiring even in its treachery to her people. She crept closer, to listen in.

She could speak Orcish, of course, though she had not practiced in some time. She gathered after a moment that they were talking about herbs and how to make gold quickly selling them. Gold is, after all, a goblin's favorite topic.

I suppose she must've stared too long, because the orc finally turned to her. Rathna was very surprised to see that the orc was a SHE! (Sometimes it's hard for me to tell too. And don't get me started on elderly dwarf women!)

"Did you want something, succubus?" the orc growled. Rathna gulped.

"Err...no. Sorry," she squeaked and scurried away as the orc turned back to her conversation.

Derion surveyed her with amusement as she rejoined him and Thandoril. "You could've given that orc what for." Feeling her feelings or no, the man still did not understand Rathna.

Thandoril shot Derion a look. "And have the guards kill all of us and use our corpses for fishbait?"

"They would do that?" Rathna wondered aloud. Goblins must be savage, is what she was thinking. But she was wrong. They're economical, too. That's why they use corpses for fishbait.

"Don't worry, Rathna," Derion said with great mirth. "Fish won't eat demon corpses."

"Why not?"

"Do I look like a fish?" Derion snapped. Rathna laughed. Thandoril turned to study Derion, head tilted.

"You look a little like a fish," he replied seriously. "But you're missing gills. And fins." Night elves as a whole don't understand the concept of sarcasm. Losing your immortality is serious business.

Well anyway, Thandoril figured out who he was talking to and suddenly went stock-still. "I'm off to take a room in the inn," he said. "I'm tired."

"It's broad daylight," Derion protested.

"I'm a night elf!" Thandoril shouted in panic, then bolted. Rathna looked at Derion. He shrugged. "Probably we should go see about getting our room, too." Her heart leapt...was he suggesting?

Then Daznok popped his head out of Derion's knapsack. "I want ale!" he crowed. Derion chuckled. "And you shall have it. Come on, Rathna. It's time to get drunk."


	6. Meet Lidia

The party stayed in Booty Bay for a couple of days. Derion and Thandoril did chores for the goblins-killing rival pirates, culling naga, and finding various ingredients for various craftsmen. Daznok was brought along, but Rathna was left to her own devices in Booty Bay. That were at Thandoril's insistence.

Now, Thandoril was an odd one. He were young for an adventuring night elf, for starters-he had only been a century old at the Battle of Mount Hyjal, where his older sister, Morrinne, were lost forever, along with the race's immortality. So understandably, he didn't like demons one whit, and until he met Derion, he didn't like warlocks. The list of things Thandoril didn't like were reasonably long. However, the list of things that terrified him was much longer, and for Thandoril the second list included women. So Rathna had two strikes against her, by his estimation.

So! Back to our girl Rathna. Being left alone in Booty Bay was not to her liking. She assumed it was because they found her inept. Therefore, she went out looking for something to do. It was funny when Derion and Thandoril came back hot, sandy, and tired with a handful of silver to divide between them and Rathna showed them a small bag of gold that "Sea-Wolf" McKinley gave her for helping him collect on some debts. It seems ol "Sea-Wolf" had a soft spot for vicious, pretty women. I do myself. Even if they kills you, you die happy.

When they left Booty Bay, Rathna was in high spirits, and stayed that way all through Stranglethorn and Duskwood and even into Elwynn Forest. After all, wasn't she doing so well, with her new gold, and her being near the man she loved? The longer she was with Derion, the more she fell in love with him, and the more her allegiance to and fear of the Legion was pushed aside. She pondered how she would make Derion fall in love with her in return.

For Derion's part, he knew Rathna was in love. Again, he was a fool about women, and decided that she was taken with Thandoril, and Thandoril was making matters worse by running away from her and piquing her interest. So he didn't notice her clinging to him a little more tightly while they were riding, gazing at him a little more avidly...

Almost all great stories are romances, yes? Many of them end in tragedy and tears and death, and all of them include hardship, When Rathna reached Stormwind, she met hardship in the form of a woman. Of course the woman's name wasn't Hardship. It was Lidia.

You see, there once was a grand human family called the Cortellos. They were renowned for producing some of the finest minds of their day, including alchemists and engineers, mages and priests. If anything ever seemed like an intellectual pursuit, at least one Cortello did it. They grew to a huge family, but over the generations they had dwindled-and now one great-great-great-many-times-more-greats granddaughter was the sole direct heir of the Cortello family.

Once the party reached Stormwind, they immediately set out for the Cortello mansion, a gigantic, ivy-covered house nestled in a quiet, well-moneyed area of Stormwind. They paused before the house, and Derion dismounted, handing the reigns to Rathna (who incidentally, was terrified of actually handling the felsteed). Derion knocked on the front door, but there was no answer. They stood a moment in silence, until they heard voices from around the back. Derion immediately headed that way, and Rathna and Thandoril instinctively followed him. And so Rathna got her first glimpse of Lidia Cortello.

She instantly hated the woman. To be fair, many people hated Lidia Cortello, and Rathna had several good reasons from the get-go.

First, Lidia had a way of looking at a body like they was the lowest thing on earth, like they was dirt beneath her pretty little slippers. And that were her normal look, too.

Also, Lidia had long hair that were like waves of spun gold, and large blue eyes dark like twilight, and a perfect body with a dancer's grace. She was lithe and lovely and sought-after, a talented priest and a genius at alchemy. But while she did have many suitors, she ran most of them off with her complete lack of social skills and niceties. At the moment, she was making Rathna feel cheap and grimy and obvious in her succubus getup.

Lidia did not even greet them. Her first words were, "Mind the wintersbite!" Derion's felsteed had propelled itself and Rathna forward in order to munch on a brilliantly-white clump of plants. Lidia glowered at Rathna til Derion grabbed the steed's bridle.

"Why are you here, Derion?" demanded Lidia, after sparing a glance for Thandoril, whose frostsaber had abandoned him to roll in the grass (all cats like to do that, but I reckon the bigger the cat, the more they have doing it).

"I have brought to you that which you seek," Derion said. He were trying to talk like a night elf, but weren't nobody fooled.

Lidia was amused, though. Those blue eyes danced at Derion, and his heart went up like a grassfire in Westfall's dry season. And remember, Rathna was aware of his emotions, and her heart sank like a ship in the Maelstrom. But Derion was too preoccupied to notice.

"What did you bring me, Derion?" Lidia asked in a new voice, coy and seductive. She didn't know how to be polite, but she sure knew how to get what she wanted.

A new voice spoke up. "Indeed. What did you bring her, Master Courdor?"

The owner of the voice nearly made Rathna gasp. From behind one of the miniature greenhouses in the garden stepped a high elf. He was gorgeous, but his pale blue eyes radiated intensity and a certain frigidity that melted only whenever he looked at Lidia.

Thandoril stood up suddenly. The high elf's attention was drawn momentarily.

"Peace, cousin," he said gently. "I will not harm you." Thandoril did not relax.

Derion sighed. "I didn't expect you, Gilderas."

"Nor I you, warlock," Gilderas said, staring openly at Rathna with disapproval. "You've gone too far to be welcomed back among the Kirin Tor, so what interest have you in my ward?"

"I don't want to hear it," Derion said shortly. "She's over the age of majority, and I have no evil designs on her."

Gilderas remained impassive. "That remains to be seen."

Derion focused on Lidia, instead. "Are you going to invite us in, so that I can show you what I've gotten you?"

"Certainly," Lidia said, about-facing real quick-like. "Come in," she added to Rathna and Thandoril, but coldly. "Gilderas, make our guests some tea."

Rathna chance a peek at the high elf's face as the dismounted the felsteed and headed for the open door. His face was a study. An unhappy study.


	7. The Eye of Shadow

So you're back again, are ya? Well, the tale continues on. Last I left off, Lidia Cortello had welcomed the party into her grand estate. Gilderas, her high elf guardian, had been rather dismissive and contemptuous of all of them, Derion in particular, but Lidia ruled the roost. Gilderas was protective of her because well, he'd been her guardian since Ignatius Cortello, Lidia's father, had died.

After a fine dinner, attended to by the only servants Lidia hadn't managed to run off, the time had come for Derion to show Lidia his prize. Even Thandoril was holdin' his breath to see this thing that Derion couldn't stop crowing about (though he'd been careful not to boast of it in Booty Bay, home of brigands and blackguards and pirates, too).

Lidia led them into her father's former study, Gilderas trailing at their backs like a disapproving watchdog.

"Now then," Lidia said, gracefully sitting down on a well-upholstered chair across from an identical one that Derion had taken, "I want to see this rare treasure you have found for me, Derion."

Thandoril nearly sat down on a settee next to Rathna, but caught himself and scurried away to a dark corner. Rathna stuck her tongue out at his retreating back.

Derion made a grand show of pulling a non-descript little black bundle out of one of his belt pouches. He flourished and postured enough for any of the Kirin Tor. Then, seeing that every eye was on him, he unwrapped the bundle. On his hand lay a small orb, no bigger than a marble or a kobold's brain, seething with smoky blacks and purples, with occasional lightnings in deep crimsons and blues. It fairly hummed with dark power.

"The Eye of Shadow," Lidia breathed, struck with wonder. She looked like a child who had just been granted a lifetime supply of Tigule and Foror's ice cream. No lie.

Gilderas's handsome face contracted in a scowl. "So you found it before I did, did you?"

Derion looked up at Gilderas with a frown. "What do you mean?"

Before Gilderas could reply, Lidia jumped in. Every now and again that woman could smooth a situation over. But mostly she liked stirring things up. "Gilderas already took me to get the Eye of Divinity." Her voice filled with pride. "His guild was already planning to go to Molten Core, so they took me along." Gilderas gave Derion a superior look.

Derion ignored him. "Lidia, the Eye of Shadow is my gift to you, but I would ask for a gift in return."

"What?" she asked teasingly. Gilderas rolled his eyes. Rathna privately agreed with him, however much the high elf disapproved of her as a demon. She thought Gilderas was the only person besides her with good sense; besides, she loathed Lidia already. _Please don't ask to go with her Derion please don't..._

"I want to go with you to claim the staff," Derion said. Rathna nearly let out a groan. "We will all go with you. Thandoril included." The night elf snapped to attention at the mention of his name.

Gilderas laughed and he didn't even bother to mask the derision in it. High elves can be like that. "You want to take my Lidia with just a warlock and a druid to protect her? Surely you jest."

Derion bristled, and Rathna bristled with him. How dare he mock her master! How dare he suggest that Derion couldn't keep Lidia safe! Though at the same time, Rathna was busily invisioning pushing Lidia off cliffs or into lava pools, all while everyone else's backs were conveniently turned...

"Are you suggesting that we would purposely harm Lidia, Gilderas?" Derion's voice was deceptively soft. Rathna knew he was close to an explosion, though. He was like a volcano in human form.

"No," Gilderas said. "I'm just saying that she can't go without people I trust along with her."

Derion retorted "Like your guild of nobodies?" at the same time that Lidia said "Light, Gilderas! I'm not a child anymore."

For a moment it was like a carnival of lights. Derion and Lidia had both jumped to their feet, Daznok tumbling onto the floor from Derion's pack. Thandoril had even leapt up and started casting as well. The flash of spells, green and golden and purple, blue and red, flew through the air. Rathna scrambled off her chair and hid under it. After a moment, the lights stopped.

Gilderas was encased in an ice block of his own making. Thandoril's clothing was singed. Derion was coughing as if he wanted to spew out his lungs and emitting a purple glow every few seconds.

"Did you...have to...get me with Starfall?" Derion gasped out at Thandoril as Gilderas let go of the wards holding his Ice Block spell in place.

"I was really confused!" Thandoril shouted. "I couldn't see anything!"

Lidia was unscathed and laughing. She pointed at Rathna. "Some help your succubus was, Derion, she hid under a chair."

Gilderas was not laughing. He faced Derion, and pretended everyone else did not exist. "Tomorrow morning, Master Courdor, if Lidia decides to go, you will meet two of my associates in Ironforge. They will go along with your _party_," at this word he sneered, "to help Lidia recover the staff. As for me, I hope I never see you again, or I will burn you to a crisp where you stand. To the rest of you, good night." He swept imperiously from the study.

Derion studied Lidia with a serious look on his face. Thandoril started trying to rearrange himself into a semblance of composure. "Lidia," Derion said, "are you in?"

Lidia looked at him for a long moment, before smiling. "If you don't help me get the staff, I will hold you down while Gilderas burns you. Now. Let's make some plans."


	8. Girl Talk

Well now, the last time I left you, Derion Courdor the warlock and Lidia Cortello the priest had made a pact to retrieve a certain staff. Before I drag you further into the tale, I'll tell you what they were doin'.

The staff that Lidia sought was a famous one in those days. It had been lost for a long time, dismantled and scattered through different parts of the world. She was on the hunt for the staff with two names-Benediction and Anathema. One incarnation of the staff was for healing, one incarnation was for damage-shadow magic. Only priests could wield it, and it was prophesied by some prophet or another that only the best priest of the Age had a chance in the Nether of putting it together again. Supposedly. You know how vague these prophets get. Even the centaurs have prophets! What exactly does a centaur prophet do anyway? Prophesy about how many taurens you're going to make hamburgers of this month? Yet again, I digress.

Early the next morning, the party trooped through driving rain to reach the Stormwind tram. Rathna was pleased to see that even Lidia looked like a drowned rat. As for herself, Rathna vowed that once they got to Ironforge she would purchase several long, high-collared dresses, preferably of shapeless wool. Even in the rain, there were plenty of men who cat-called after her in the streets.

The Tram was, like the ship from Ratchet to Booty Bay, another delight to Rathna. She looked at everything avidly. Derion leaned back and took a nap, while Lidia, for once, was pensive. Halfway through the trip, Thandoril proved he had an unfortunate weakness-motion sickness. Rathna was relieved when they arrived in Ironforge.

Lidia took the lead once they were in the city. She was carrying a letter from Gilderas. The others dutifully followed her as she made her way to the Mystic Ward, then asked the doorman for permission to enter the Hall of Mysteries. He admitted her after she showed him the letter from Gilderas.

The Hall of Mysteries was quiet. Rathna saw just one gnome sitting at a table, mumbling to herself. Rathna did a double-take-the gnome was not alone. Someone, someone with a pair of silvery eyes very like to Rathna's own was sitting beside the gnome, twitching her whip.

"Oh no," Rathna whispered to herself. "That's...that's...Faerna." And she were right to be scared. The succubus Faerna, that I mentioned before, was one of the foremost succubustles of Rathna's class. She had already been credited with turning two warlocks, an orc and a human, to the Burning Legion. She also was credited with the destruction of two knights, formerly of the Silver Hand. It also didn't help that she was more mouthwatering, more tantalizing than even Lidia Cortello.

"Dimity!" Lidia suddenly called in a happy voice. The gnome looked up, and a smile wreathed her small face. She bounded up to the party.

"Lidia Cortello!" the gnome squeaked. Rathna found herself smiling. The gnome, Dimity, had precious pink pigtails and large blue eyes. She looked like a happy toddler, albeit one clad in all manner of trinkets and gewgaws. Rathna noticed that Dimity seemed to have glued skulls onto her hat and epaulets. Tiny skulls. _Perhaps rats? _Rathna wondered, momentarily distracted.

"Do you know where Donnan is?" Lidia asked Dimity. "I have a letter for him from Gilderas."

"Hmmm." Dimity thought for a moment. "I'm not sure. But I could go with you to find him!" Then she spotted Derion. "Ooo, another warlock!" Dimity squealed happily, like a teenage girl. Five minutes later, several dogs made their way to the spot. Just joshin' ya. She didn't squeal that shrilly. But Derion did cover his ears.

Lidia frowned in consternation. So did Rathna. Whatever this gnome-girl was, she couldn't be a warlock. "But Dimity," Lidia began, "You're a m..."

"Come, Fairy!" Dimity commanded. Rathna bit back a gasp of astonishment. Faerna unwound herself from the chair in a display that would make any warm-blooded male stand up and take note. And pro'lly cold-blooded males too, because I'm sure even naga-men can appreciate a beautiful women, yes?

Faerna walked up to the group and gave Dimity a salute that Rathna knew for a fact was ironic. "Yes, Mistress?" she said, sweetly as sugar cakes.

"Come," Dimity said, starting off. "We are going to find Donnan."

Dimity set a brisk pace for such a small person. and Rathna found herself dropping to the back of the group. She was both intrigued and frightened when Faerna dropped back with her. And Faerna wasn't in the best of moods, either.

"You are so lucky," Faerna hissed at Rathna. "You got an actual warlock for your assignment. And he's actually good-looking. I'm stuck with this trumped-up gnome who's only pretending to be a warlock!"

Frightened or not, Rathna had to stifle giggles. "Only pretending? What is she, really?"

Faerna rolled her eyes, but some of the heat seemed to be gone. "She's a mage. She's just really, really fascinated with warlocks. But she has no talent for the dark arts."

"So why are you wasting your time with her?" asked Rathna, genuinely curious.

Faerna eyed Rathna disdainfully. "It was an assignment! The Legion desperately wants more than just the warriors and warlocks it has now! They'd kill to have a mage, even if all she did was distribute water! They'd love to have anything! But since druids and hunters and so on and so forth aren't really known for summoning demons, _I _have to corrupt the Legion's first mage!" Faerna was good, or she wouldn't have been given that assignment, for certain. But she weren't happy about it. Dimity was a wholesome one. Sometimes _too _wholesome.

Rathna tried not to laugh. She could see the Legion's logic. But she didn't envy Faerna one bit. "She seems like an innocent. Surely she'd be easy to trip up."

Faerna smiled. "Perhaps you're right. Maybe I've been going about it the wrong way. She's too smart and willful for the usual mind-tricks, and I certainly don't want to bed her, nor she me. But perhaps I can work using that intelligence and innocence of hers. What about you? What's your situation?"

Rathna turned red. She wasn't sure how to explain exactly to Faerna that she had fouled up so badly as to let Derion know her real name. "It's...it could be better," she finished lamely.

"Rathna! Why are you whispering back there?" Derion suddenly demanded. Faerna turned on Rathna, her silvery eyes full of mirth.

"You mean he knows your real name?" Faerna spat out, a laugh underneath the words. Rathna stiffened.

"At least I don't have to go by _Fairy_," she retorted, then scurried up to take her place beside Derion again, while Faerna twisted and hissed.

"What was that all about?" Derion asked curiously.

"Oh, you know," Rathna said coquettishly, batting her eyes. "Just girl talk."


	9. The Drunken Dwarf

The last I left yas, Dimity the gnome was leading Derion, Rathna, Lidia, and Thandoril to find Donnan. Now as you can pro'lly tell from the name, Donnan was a dwarf. He were one of the most stout-hearted dwarf paladins there was, and when I say _stout_-hearted, I mean the man...err...dwarf, never stopped drinkin', or hardly. He regarded any moment without ale or port or even an elf-made wine wasted. But he were a kindly soul, and he was one of Gilderas' most trusted guild lieutenants.

Dimity led the party to a rather dirty, hole-in-the-wall pub called The Axe and Emblem. Donnan were the only customer at that hour, joshin' with the lone barmaid on duty, and in general having a rip-roarin' good time. His good time faded a bit when Dimity walked in.

"There ye are, ye wee sleekit arcanambulist!" he roared when he saw Dimity. Don't be fooled; Dimity was his best friend. And then he caught sight of Lidia.

"Mistress Cortello," he breathed, nearly spilling his mug. He swept to his feet, drunk as he was, and managed a half-passable bow. It's always nice when someone's been taught the basic courtesies.

"Sir Donnan," Lidia replied, curtsying. Y'see, she had manners. Sometimes.

Dimity led the group closer. Rathna eyed the dwarf. He was so obviously a paladin. He wore half his plate, even in Ironforge, and he never took off his commendation badge what Uther gave him. Faerna caught Rathna's eye and whispered, "Why couldn't I have been sent to corrupt _this _one?"

"To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit, Lady Lidia?" Donnan gurgled. "Hey! Bronwen! More ale over here, eh? Make it a pitcher!" At the sound of Donnan's roar, the barmaid scurried to the back.

Without waiting for any more cues, Derion took a chair at Donnan's table. Thandoril followed suit. Rathna remained standing. She felt very conspicious; besides Faerna, she hadn't seen any other demons in Ironforge at all.

Donnan looked at Derion and Thandoril with some kind of half-cocked amazement. "A druid! An' a warlock! This is most pro...propit...interestin'!" he shouted. Donnan rarely didn't shout. A lot of dwarfs are like that; you spend enough time around 'em and you start shoutin' too.

Lidia and Dimity both sat down as well. Faerna looked bored. Elegantly bored, Rathna thought. She looked as if it were the most natural thing in the world to be crammed inside a dirty tavern with a drunken paladin.

"Well, Donnan," Lidia began, "it's really all explained in this letter that Gilderas sent for you and Dimity."

"Sent us a letter, he did!" the dwarf chuckled. "How like Gilderas. Hand over the letter, missy." He took the missive from Lidia's outstretched hand, and began to read, mumbling under his breath as he did so. Rathna caught a few words..."high elves always gotta go on and on...you don't say!...marvelous!"

Donnan tossed the letter on the table just as Bronwen came back with a pitcher of ale and several mugs. "So ye want to go claim the fabled staff, do ye, Lidia?"

"Yes," she replied, smiling. "And it's all down to Derion getting me the Eye of Shadow." Derion started preening in only the way a love-struck mooncalf can. Rathna rolled her eyes at Faerna. Faerna smiled back at Rathna devilishly and whispered, "You've picked a fine one to break your heart, Rathna."

"And Gilderas got me the Eye of Divinity, of course," Lidia added hastily. Derion looked deflated.

"I was there," Donnan said with a ready grin. "I figured I'd be called into this somehow. The good thing is...I know where ye have to go to finish this quest of yourn."

Everyone grew very silent. "But you're a paladin!" Dimity squeaked.

"Aye, I'm a paladin, but I read ancient books of lore and what-not," Donnan replied testily, taking a swig from his mug. Derion handed a mugful of ale to Rathna, who sniffed it. This ale was different from the one they'd had in Booty Bay. It smelled...more pungent. She took a sip, and nearly spat it out. Was this ale, or pure alcohol? Faerna covered her mouth to stifle giggles. "I daresay," Donnan continued, "that I've read as many books as your Derion Courdor, here." Derion looked surprised. "Oh aye, I know who ye are. Yer reputation precedes ya." Derion looked smug for a moment until Donnan said "I dinna say that was a good thing!"

Lidia rolled her eyes. "Whatever you've heard from Gilderas is base exaggeration, surely. He's not that bad."

"Not that bad?" Derion spluttered. "Give me back that Eye of Shadow, woman!"

Lidia smiled at Derion. "Remember...Gilderas threatened you with fire." Derion buried his face in his mug.

Donnan looked at them in consternation for a moment. "I'm not even goin' to pretend I know what that's about," he finally said. "But one thing's for certain, missy. I can help you get to the Eastern Plaguelands to claim this staff. But if we go, I plan to be leader of this expedition!"

That set off an argument. Lidia claimed that since she was the one seeking the staff, that she should be the leader. Derion argued that he was the one who proposed the journey in the first place, and he was the most learned, so he should lead. Even Thandoril claimed that a level-headed druid would make the ideal party leader. Both Rathna and Faerna laughed out loud at that, and Thandoril shrank in his chair, mumbling something about untrustworthy female demons. Only Dimity sat quietly, listening to the quarrel and steadily sipping on her mug. Her eyes were becoming more and more glazed by the second.

Donnan heard everyone out, and finally said, "Gilderas wrote two pages of letter. He could've saved himself a page and a half on my account, but he said I was to lead!" When Lidia looked like she was going to argue again, he said, "D'ye want my help or not, lady?"

Lidia considered it for moment, tossing her long, silvery-blonde hair. _Just like a horse!_ Rathna thought sourly. _What does Derion see in this wench? _Rathna may have been just a weensy bit jealous at this point. Maybe not. But probably so, hey? It's all right though, it don't make her a bad person. Or succubus. Lots o'people were jealous of Lidia Cortello, but most of those hadn't been introduced to her properly.

"Fine," Lidia said after a long pause. "You're leading. But I set the pace."

Donnan smiled, his deep brown eyes crinkling at the corners. "So 'tis, Lady Lidia. But I make the final decisions."

Lidia nodded. "As you say." _Good! _Rathna thought. _We're done here._ Just then, Dimity tumbled out of her chair onto the floor. "Owwwww," she whined softly.

Donnan roared with laughter. "Looks like our tiny thaumaturge has had herself too much ta drink!" Faerna knelt down beside Dimity, fussing and cooing like a nursemaid. Rathna snickered, and Derion gave her a look that plainly said _Why can't you behave like that?_

"I'm...a warlock now...Donnan," Dimity groaned.

"Sure, sure, you're a warlock, and I'm Brann Bronzebeard's second cousin! Up and goin', everyone! Go buy your supplies, get yerself a mount if ya need one, and be ready to set out! We've a long journey ahead of us, and we leave day after tomorrow, before the sun rises! Go!"

As they put their mugs down, and filed out of the pub, Rathna overheard Lidia whispering to Thandoril (who looked like he wanted to run away from being addressed by a woman) and Derion, "The funny thing is...Donnan IS Brann Bronzebeard's second cousin. I suppose he's just too drunk to remember."

"I heard that!" Donnan bellowed. Rathna looked back. Faerna was helping Dimity into a standing position, brushing off the gnome's robes, but she turned for just a second to face Rathna and mouthed, _We'll talk later._ Rathna shuddered. She was sure whatever Faerna wanted to talk about, she wasn't going to like it, not one bit.


	10. On the Road Again

Well, I finished last where the entire party was about to set out from Ironforge to the Eastern Plaguelands. Frightenin' place that was at the time, what with all the ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggedy beasties. And bats. I hate damnable bats, always have. And just to remind you all who was in the party, I'll tell ya.

First of all was the self-proclaimed (and Gilderas-proclaimed) leader Donnan, the dwarf paladin with an unfortunate (or fortunate, depending on who you ask) taste for the spirits. And I don't mean ghost-spirits, I mean liquor-spirits. Don't judge him too harshly; he was broken a little when Arthas destroyed the first Order, and he filled up the cracks with alcohol. It happens sometimes.

Next was Lidia Cortello, the famous young human priest of the famous old mostly-human family of the Cortellos. (They did have a penchant for occasionally marrying a high elf. These high elves tended to be the ones who did the renovations to the Cortello mansion in Stormwind.) As I said before, she was rude, but not evil. Just self-absorbed. And the pointy-eared prat Gilderas Lightbough was her guardian. But he wasn't with them on the journey, so I won't describe him again.

There was Donnan's best friend, Dimity the mage who desperately wanted to be a warlock. Seriously. But the thing was, she had no talent for the dark arts at all. So she just claimed that her icy powers were shadow-ice and her arcane powers were shadow-arcane. Some people will go to any lengths to delude themselves. She also believed that she had managed to summon her succubus, Faerna, who she called "Fairy."

Of Faerna, what to say? She still frightens me a good deal if I think about it all too hard. She were beyond beautiful, beyond sensual, beyond mortal words to tell. And she was scary as all hell, no pun intended.

There was Thandoril, the young night elf druid, who was terrified of women, who hated demons, and yet was devoted to the party's lone (real) warlock, Derion Courdor. I never will claim that night elves make any sense at all.

And then there was Derion himself, carelessly handsome, learned, quick-tempered, a good friend, a deadly foe, blah blah blah, the stuff of legends blah. And with him, besides his trusty imp Daznok, was Rathna, the succubus he had not summoned, who yet was bound to him by his knowledge of her real name. And she was in love with him. Things were very complicated for our poor Rathna, who was at this point wondering what the Burning Legion had gotten her into.

Faerna, for her part, was all too ready to tell Rathna EXACTLY what the Burning Legion had gotten her into, but Rathna had foiled her through the day and a half they spent in Ironforge. It was all too easy to slip through the crowds of people at the Auction House and the stablemasters, all too easy to be "sleeping" when Faerna tried one last late-night drop-by.

But once they were on the road, Faerna of course caught up to Rathna.

Donnan and Lidia had dickered a bit over the pace they were going to set. Lidia wanted to get to Eastern Plaguelands yesterday, and no matter the toll on their party or their mounts. Donnan had a more level head about this.

"This is the last time I'm going to say it, woman!" he roared at Lidia. "It will take us most of a month to get the Plaguelands, and that's not counting any fighting we'll have to do, and that'll still press your horse quite a bit! Do ye want a dead horse?"

"Well, no..." Lidia had said, faltering. The only person who ever raised his voice to her was Gilderas, and he was courtly enough not to do it in public, generally.

"Right. So we go my way, and don't worry your pretty head about it," Donnan said, turning away from Lidia. Big mistake. She threw a handful of sugar cubes meant for her new horse, Ladyslipper.

"Oh aye!" Donnan bellowed, turning around. "Once more and I'll tan your hide better than a leatherworker, I will! Don't push me!" Donnan had not had his morning "fortifier" yet. He was feeling rather poorly.

Dimity sat astride the strangest mount Rathna had ever seen. It looked like a chicken...but it was all made of metal! Fascinating to Rathna. She edged her horse (which, at the moment, was spooked by her demonic presence) over to Dimity. She hadn't named the horse yet; she was still considering. Remember: to demons, names are important.

"What kind of a mount is that?" Rathna asked with genuine wonder.

Dimity smiled. She was a very sweet little gnome, really. "It's a mechanostrider."

"Is it...a robot?" the word was hard for Rathna to get out. She thought robots were legends, or jokes, like the tale of Simberdella and the Truesilver Slippers, or the Three Little Quilboars.

Dimity squinted at her. "Yes, basically, though I wouldn't have thought you'd know something like that."

Rathna tried to look cool and mysterious, like Faerna. On a less-nice person, it would've failed, but Dimity didn't tend to notice things like that. "I know a lot of things."

Dimity chuckled. "I'm sure you do. Fairy's spent the last day or so telling me all about what good friends you are."

Rathna nearly choked. "Um...yes! Friends since our girlhood!" She glared at Faerna, who had the most innocent expression on her face.

"Time to set out, everyone!" Donnan shouted from in front of them. "I'll be taking the front guard, and our dashing druid will be taking the rear guard!...and let's hope he doesn't just dash away at the first sign of trouble," Donnan added in a stage whisper. Thandoril acted like he hadn't heard a thing. Maybe he hadn't, who knows?

"Nice mount, Rathna," Derion said, edging his felsteed over towards her horse, who whickered in mild panic. "I saw you flirting with that poor stable boy. I hope you didn't earn him a beating with your wheeling and dealing!"

Rathna batted her eyelashes at him. "Oh, I still paid a fair price for it, in the end."

"I'm sure you did," Derion replied, laughing, and moved up to ride aside Lidia. Rathna considered blowing a raspberry at him. Why did he spend most of his time making fun of her, when he wasn't ordering her around? _Beastly man, _she thought. _I wish I didn't love you. _But she didn't really mean that, anyway.

As they set off down the road, Faerna caught up with Rathna. "Stay awhile, sister," she drawled like a human. "We have much to discuss."

Rathna tried to look interested. It wouldn't do well to tip her hand now, even though she had decided on the long trip to Stormwind that she was done with the Burning Legion, if she could be done. "Such as what?"

Faerna smiled. "We're headed to the Eastern Plaguelands, woman."

"So? It's controlled by the Scourge."

Faerna's smile grew more wicked. "Not entirely."

"What do you mean?" Rathna checked the riders. Derion, Lidia, and Donnan were well ahead. Dimity was drifting off somewhere to the left, plainly unable to hear them. Thandoril was well to the back.

Faerna grinned now, a ghastly sight. "There is at least one large camp of our brethren hiding out in the Eastern Plaguelands, corrupting what Scourge they can back to our cause. The TRUE cause. Also, the Scarlet idiots in Stratholme are still ruled by one of our dreadlords."

"Really?" Rathna squeaked. She wanted to ride her horse right back into Ironforge and hide. "Which one?" 

"Balnazzar!" Faerna whispered triumphantly, checking to make sure they weren't being overheard. "We can hand over Derion and Dimity to our brothers as new initiates for the Legion!"

"Faerna...seriously. We have about a month to corrupt them that far..."

Faerna interrupted her. "It won't take that long, silly. Unless you're chicken. Or too far gone on that human. He is rather delectable, but think about how much more he'll be with the Legion backing him! And you'll be the one getting him that power! He'll forget that silly blonde trull after that."

"But..."

"Just think on it, Rathna. Remember, I'm your friend, and I can help you. And you don't want to disappoint the Legion." Faerna's last words, sweet as they were, carried a hint of warning.

"Of...of course not, Faerna! I'll do what I can," Rathna promised.

"What are you two whispering about back there?" Derion asked. He had become curious.

Faerna flashed him a winning smile. He brightened. Rathna sighed. If she just had one tenth of the charm Faerna had...

"We're just talking about who the most handsome member of the party is," Faerna giggled.

Derion and Lidia slowed their horses. "What did you decide?" Lidia inquired, the light of mischief in her eyes.

"Oh AYE!" Donnan called from up front. "Everyone KNOWS that I'm the most gorgeous thing on two feet! Or two hooves! Or two whatever-ya-call-em things that them trolls have! And WHY ARE YOU SLACKIN', YOU WOOL-BRAINED NINNIES? ARE WE GOIN' TO THE EASTERN PLAGUELANDS, OR TO A PICNIC IN LOCH MODAN? HURRY YER ARSES!"

Needless to say, the pace picked up after that. And Faerna didn't try to talk to Rathna again for awhile. Rathna felt grateful to Donnan.


	11. In the Wetlands

Where I cut off last, Rathna and her party had just left Ironforge heading for the Eastern Plaguelands, and Faerna had been sure to catch up with Rathna and fill her in on the Burning Legion's plans regarding Derion. And Dimity, I s'pose.

The journey to Eastern Plaguelands really started out quiet enough. Faerna left Rathna completely alone for a few days, instead choosing to dote over Dimity in a way that Rathna found nausea-inducing. Even though Derion was quite obviously smitted with Lidia Cortello, the priest, he found time to eye Faerna in a way that made Rathna enraged. She knew Derion could feel her emotions...if only she knew how _confused _she made Derion...

For his part, Derion was still unsure of Rathna's competence. He found her performance in battle a little uneven, to say the least, though the weak foes they were facing as they traveled through Dun Morogh and Loch Modan did not prove much of a challenge. Rathna even did the hunting one night, bringing a huge boar (that had been terrifying the countryside) back to roast. Succubusms huntin'! That's like one of them blood elves courtin' a...a...murloc! It was such a large kill they were able to salt some of it, for extra food on the journey.

Donnan rarely spoke, and if he did, he was usually barking orders, or trading banter with Lidia. They had an uncle-and-favored-niece routine that Rathna found extremely tiring. Though Donnan did not tolerate Lidia's rudeness to others.

"Is she your minion or just a pretty doll?" Lidia inquired nastily of Dimity one night, as Dimity braided Faerna's hair by the campfire (Rathna sat in the darkness, not trusting herself to anger Faerna with amused expressions).

"Lidia," Donnan said warningly, his head buried in a map that was almost as large as he was.

Lidia ignored him. "I suppose she's more useful than Derion's. Prettier, too." Rathna's face burned. Derion looked unsure of what to say.

"LIDIA!" Donnan shouted. "I know yer different, havin' been half-raised by high-elves an' all, but keep your yap shut if you dinnae have anything nice ta say, ya mare!" Lidia sulked. Rathna still felt humiliated, made worse by Dimity's sympathetic expression and Faerna's thoughtful one. As usual, Thandoril stared into the flames, as if he had heard nothing.

Otherwise, the trip was uneventful until they reached the Wetlands. Lidia had argued that they should go to Menethil Harbor, but Donnan rejected it as out of their way. Thandoril finally spoke up.

"I've heard others claim that there is a small settlement of my people in the Green Belt of the Wetlands, aiding Rethiel the Greenwarden," he said. "We could go there to rest and restock supplies."

Donnan mused for a moment. "That sounds good, son." Thandoril did not react at all to being called "son" by someone easily a few decades his junior.

Thus, they made for the tiny night elf settlement. When they arrived they learned it was simply called "The Grove," and the night elves there had built a few small structures. They were aiding Rethiel in "cleaning up" the Green Belt. They had even managed to create a moonwell there, one of the few available on the continent. They welcomed the party with open arms, though they were clearly uneasy about Rathna and Faerna (and Daznok too, but he generally stayed hidden until Derion needed him). The night elves there, many of whom seemed to be Thandoril's contemporaries, invited him to stay until the next night, the night of the full moon, when they would have a ceremony for Elune. Thandoril looked at Donnan, who nodded in response.

Everything was going fairly well...which is why the evening that they arrived that it started to fall apart.

They had joined the night elves for a dinner cooked under the stars. The night elves had mostly excused themselves after the meal, since night was their most active time. Lidia and Dimity had gone on a walk, and Faerna had joined them, muttering about "mortal's starchy foods," and her posterior. Rathna had laid down in the shadows, keeping very still and watching the firelight. Donnan had fallen asleep sitting up, a battered stein of port beside him. Derion and Thandoril were both staring into the flames.

"Thandoril," Rathna heard Derion say quietly. Thandoril raised his head.

"Yes, Derion?"

"I've...got a question for you. About alchemy."

Thandoril smiled, a rare sight for Rathna. "You'd be better off asking Mistress Cortello, Derion. She is much more knowledgeable than I."

Derion flushed. Rathna was intrigued. "I can't ask her."

"Why not?"

Derion flushed even deeper. "Well...while we were staying in Everlook, I bought a potion from Roxie's brother, you remember?"

Thandoril chuckled. "Dax the Charlatan. Yes, I remember him. What did you buy?"

Derion seemed to be regretting he'd brought it up. "One of Dr. Abra's concoctions."

Thandoril stared at Derion wordlessly for a moment before throwing his head back at laughing. Rathna frowned. Was the night elf sick? She hadn't seen him this light-hearted in awhile.

"You bought a LOVE potion?" Thandoril wheezed. "One of Dr. Abra's LOVE colognes?" He fairly near rolled about giggling!

Rathna was horrified. Was THAT why she loved Derion? All because of some goblin-mixed potion? Then why had it not faded by now? Was he still wearing it every day? Then realization, the cold realization that Derion was wearing that cologne for someone, and that someone was definitely NOT Rathna...

She very nearly shot to her feet, but she knew she didn't want to reveal herself to the two men right now. She waited and listened.

"I'm sorry, Derion," Thandoril said, with a very serious expression on his face, "but that's not my area of expertise. Dr. Abra's potions do tend to work as promised...though like with all goblin goods, not always in the way you expect...I'm sorry I can't help further."

"It was worth a shot," Derion muttered, folding his arms and slumping against the log. Rathna waited until Derion was dozing and Thandoril had left to move.

In a fit of rage, Rathna went to Derion's pack, quietly, careful not to disturb him. She rummaged through it until she found the little red bottle. "Dr. Abra's Eau D'Amour" was written on it in a variety of Azerothian languages, along with instructions. She closed Derion's pack carefully, bottle in hand, and stalked away from the fire, back toward the night elf settlement.

A sentinel, a female in silvery armor, appeared suddenly out of the night. "Where do you go, demon?" she said, frowning and eyeing Rathna up and down in a way that Rathna found offensive.

"I...I'm just..."

The sentinel didn't wait. "Go back to your master's camp," she spat. "We do not want you in our homes." Rathna stared at the woman with fury raging in her eyes.

"Go!" the sentinel said, nocking an arrow to her bow and swinging to point it right at Rathna's heart.

"Fine," Rathna said. "So much for so-called night elf hospitality." If the sentinel said anything to her, Rathna did not hear it. She strode away, at first back towards the fire, then towards the treeline, where the moonwell sparkled.

_I'll fix you, _Rathna thought. _I'll fix all of you. _She uncorked the bottle as she neared the moonwell, pausing for a moment to look deep into its glowing white waters. Then she emptied the entire contents of the bottle into the moonwell, which bubbled and frothed as Rathna walked away again. She were angry, true, and she did let it get the best of her. But remember, she were a demon, and that were a remarkably restrained response, for a demon. Not that it didn't cause trouble.

Rathna woke the next morning, having forgotten all about the moonwell. She was still a little angry, but quickly forgot it as she joined Derion in the work that Rethiel had assigned them, clearing out the place of invaders, helping cure the disease that seemed to be infesting too much of the Wetlands. So it wasn't until that evening that her fit of anger bore fruit. And what fruit it was!

Rathna was sitting at the fire when she noticed Thandoril getting up and slipping away to join a small procession of younger night elves that were filing into the woods. Rathna sneaked away from the campfire again, wondering what a night elf ceremony looked like.

Rathna knelt down in a small copse of trees that gave her clear view of the moonwell, and coincidentally of Thandoril. The elves had formed most of a circle around the moonwell, and were chanting softly in Darnassian. Rathna watched in awe as a young woman, the sentinel that had stopped her last night, stepped forward with a bowl in her hands.

"Elune-Adore," she said, handing the bowl to Thandoril. He looked nervous at being so near a female. Rathna almost pitied him. He knelt down to fill the bowl in the moonwell, but dropped it, and blushed like a little boy when the others snickered. He bent to retrieve the bowl-and of course his hands got covered in liquid, which still contained Dr. Abra's Eau D'Amour in it. As he withdrew the bowl, the most overpowering fragrance hung about him. Even afterward, Rathna admitted it had an entrancing quality, and made her see Thandoril in a new light. But her reaction was nothing compared to the night elf women's. They weren't laughing no more, no sir. They was all staring at Thandoril, their eyes like pie plates! They was looking at him like a kobold looks at his candle. As one woman, they began to move towards Thandoril.

Thandoril, bless his pointy ears, had the romantic awareness of a potted plant. He looked terrified. The combination of love-cologne and a moonwell was driving them women berserk. The closer they came, the more spooked he got. It only took a matter of seconds before he turned and bolted. The women pursued him like a swarm of hornets, or perhaps piranha! Thandoril was fast, though, bein' a druid and all, and the women had trouble catching him-except for one of 'em, who was swift as could be. She lunged out and caught his foot, tripping him up in front of two astonished night elf elders. In the next blink, all of the women fell on top of him. They were sounds of loud, happy sighs, and scrabbling and ripping before all of a sudden, Thandoril shifted into his cat form and tore off, leaving the night elf women in a dazed heap. The women all groaned except for one, who leapt to her feet and shouted triumphantly, "I can track beasts!" and took off after him. The rest of the women scrambled to their feet and followed, shouting, leaving the night elf elders and the young men still standing at the moonwell looking poleaxed. Rathna had a strong urge to laugh hysterically.

One of the remaining night elf men turned to the others. "Well, friends," he said, resigned. "There's nothing else for it." He went over to the moonwell and started splashing himself frantically. The others followed suit. Rathna crept away again, trying not to choke on her laughter.


	12. Witherbark Hospitality

**Author's note: Whew...this chapter turned out long. I'm quite pleased with how this story is turning out. There are several more chapters to go, but I've written about 1/3 of them at this point. I'll be updating a bit more this week/weekend, so stay tuned! (Though be advised I don't plan for all of my chapters to be as long as this one.)**

**General disclaimer: I don't own WoW. (If I did, there wouldn't be as many retcons.)  
**

Ah, you're back! I thought you'd probably want to know how Thandoril's little adventure ended! Well, I'll tell you this: Thandoril got himself one hell of an education that night, provided by Rathna (get it...hell of an education...provided by a demon? ...Kids these days have no sense of humor, you don't.)

Well, the night elf elders of "The Grove" (sounds like some kind of luxury community for night elves only, don't it? It kinda were, anyway...) were perplexed by the strange goings-on of the young adults. Admittedly, with cause. The next morning, a small delegation of them met with our fearless adventurers and kicked them out. They believed that Thandoril was a lothario (that's night elf for "pervert"), some kind of lech that had tampered with the moonwell. Thandoril did not speak through the entire interview. Donnan had found him early in the morning, before sunrise, in the limbs of a very large tree in the grove, shaking and muttering to himself. Donnan had to toss him a new set of clothes up before Thandoril would come down.

The rest of the party took their dismissal in good humor; all of them, even Lidia, found the previous night's events entertaining. (Incidentally, several months after that night, the village got a huge surprise: the birth of a half-dozen babies. They were so overjoyed that they wrote Thandoril an apology note. Don't you worry, thought, weren't none of those babies one of Thandoril's. It were just a funny coincidence. Or maybe they should've written Dr. Abra a thank-you note.)

Well, once they left the Green Belt and set out in earnest for the Arathi Highlands, all hell broke loose. It was as if the mosquitos of the Wetlands carried a virus that put everyone in a really bad mood. Or maybe it were because they were being eaten alive by mosquitos! Whatever it was, the good mood that they had left the Grove in slowly but surely melted away.

Thandoril was mad at Derion, because he believed Derion had put the love-cologne in the moonwell for some kind of horrible practical joke. But Thandoril weren't a yeller, so the arguments he had with Derion about it were very incongruous. If Derion hadn't been so stressed about them, Rathna would've found the whole thing funny.

"I can't believe you did that to me!" Thandoril would hiss at Derion.

"I didn't do it!" Derion would hiss back, strained. Nothing would get louder than a hiss. It was like an argument between bipedal snakes.

Lidia and Donnan, on the other hand, were still shouting at each other about once every three hours regarding the pace to the Eastern Plaguelands.

"The staff is going to PETRIFY before we ever get there!" Lidia would shout.

"Good! Then it'll be all the better to beat the ever-lovin' snot outta ya, ya brat!" Donnan would yell back. "I'm not gonna kill my horses because you don't understand the basics of travel!"

"We could've taken flights to the Eastern Plaguelands," Lidia would then sulk. Donnan would sigh and mop his brow, and start fumbling at his hip for his flask.

"I done told ya, minx," he'd tell Lidia with a blend of exasperation and amusement, "that we couldn't afford flying mounts to take us, even if they were only flying us the last two miles. Plus, you haven't used them hippogryphs very much. They're just as likely to set you down in the middle of the Hinterlands! And flying for hours wears your legs and arms out somethin' awful. Nae, lass, we're much better off going this way. It's not like Gilderas lets you out of his sight enough as it is." Derion would snort in agreement. And every three hours, they repeated the same thing. Rathna thought she was going to go insane.

Even Dimity and Faerna were quarreling, though they were polite or intelligent enough to confine it to furious whispers only they could hear. If anyone dropped back to listen, they'd stop, and smile at the offender like cats with canaries in their mouths. Creepy stuff, that.

This arguing continued for four days straight, until they reached the Arathi Highlands. And really, it continued into the Arathi Highlands, too. In fact, it reached a fever pitch, which is why they didn't notice a large contingent of Witherbark trolls milling about, waiting for them to ride by. Sometimes these things just happen to travelers unawares, which is why you shouldn't argue on the road. They were outnumbered 2 to 1 by the trolls, and even though they tried to fight...well, discretion is the better part of valor, you know? No need to be stuck full of arrows on the Arathi highway when you can be taken to a Witherbark village and roasted alive slowly, right?

The less said about the generalities and particulars of the Witherbark village they were taken to, the better. The smell reminded Rathna of satyrs, which are definitely not the most sanitary of demons. The trolls in the camp were wearing the grisly reminders of their conquests, or they were decorating with them. Either way, there were a lot of scalps and skulls and dessicated heads and hands. It was like a curio shop, specializing in severed anatomical bits.

Rathna figured that the leader of the hunting band that had caught them wasn't very bright. Her view was confirmed when they were led before the Grand Poobah, or whatever it is trolls call their leaders. Chiefs? Troll-Kings? Grand Poobah sounds good enough.

"We found dese creatures travelin' out of da marshlands," the hunting leader (his name had sounded like Zar'nowi, to Rathna's ears) said. "We tought dey might go well as sacrifices, or in de cookpot. 'Specially dese two," he indicated Rathna and Faerna with a mossy smile. "Tings wid hooves always be tastin' good, mon."

The Grand Poobah frowned over Rathna and Faerna. His amber eyes held some intelligence. "Dey not edible, Zar'nowi...dey _demons_. How could you be so stupid?"

"But I tought-" Zar'nowi began, but the chief cut him off.

"Did I say dey was useless?" he said, eyes shining. "De sacrifice of demons to our god! Dat would be such a coup! De whole tribe would gain such powa!" He looked at Zar'nowi, who seemed to be getting the message. "Get our priests! We prolly can't pull it off tonight, but...tomorrow, demon sacrifices...and a feast," he added, his gaze roaming over the rest of the party.

Nobody said anything. Anything at all. Their expressions were mostly of resignation and fear. Rathna didn't understand then, but of course she figured it out later. Trolls can be hasty. You insult a troll, you're usually dead quickly. And they didn't want to be dead quickly. Also, the trolls had spoken Zandali. Rathna and Faerna were the only ones there who knew the language, and Rathna was much more clever at it than Faerna.

The party was relegated to squalid little huts at the top of a hill, and set with guards. Rathna and Faerna were given a hut together, and chain tightly to the central post, though they could move their hands enough to rummage through their packs, which had been turned back over to them after confiscation by the hunting party. Rathna almost groaned; they had given her Donnan's pack by mistake!

You might think it would've been Faerna who was wily and cunning enough to attempt escape. I would myself, if I didn't know the truth. But Faerna met her match early on in the female witch doctor sent to be their first guard. Faerna made a comment regarding the witch doctor's conception and entry into the world. I won't repeat it here, but it involved a boar and it wasn't complimentary. The witch doctor swiftly knocked Faerna out with her heavy staff, then mumbled a few incantations under her breath. Rathna sat there, mouth agape.

The witch doctor noticed her staring. "She be too free wid her tongue. I'm cut it out _personally_." Her eyes gleamed with malice. "She won't be wakin' up for awhile." With that, she stumped out of the hut and crouched down outside.

A few tense hours went by. Faerna did not wake. Rathna desperately tried to think of a way out of the situation. She could feel Derion's fear. It did nothing to help. In a daze, she rummaged again through Donnan's pack and struck gold. Not gold literally, now. She hoped the guards changed; she was sure the plan that was rapidly forming in her mind would not work on the hatchet-faced witch doctor, nor did she care to try.

To her delight, the guard changed once it was full dark. She could tell from the voice and shape of the new guard that it was a male. The witch doctor stayed long enough to brief him, then melted into the darkness.

Rathna waited for awhile before trying her ruse. Her voice nearly faltered when she called out to the guard in Zandali.

"Sir," she said. He jumped to his feet and entered the hut.

"Yes?" he replied, brusque but not unkind.

"I hate ask for this," she said in perfect Zandali, trying to sound as scared as possible. Not that it were difficult. "But...I am so hungry. Is there anything, even a heel of bread, that I may have...please?"

The troll just stared at her for a moment, his hand on the bow at his side. Then he burst into quiet laughter.

"You speak Zandali good, mon," he said when he had finished laughing. "If dey knew dat dey woulda been amazed. Sure, I'll getcha some food...if you don't mind dried spider."

Rathna tried not to shudder. "Sounds good." While he went to fetch it, she drew out her secret weapon-a large sealed bottle from the bottom of Donnan's pack. She wondered that the trolls had not discovered it. On it, in Gnomish script, was written "Extra Strength Rum-Recommended for Pirates and Dwarves only." You can't get rum that powerful in the city anymore, because of the nanny government in Stormwind. But if you know where to look...

The troll came back with the meat. "What's that?" he asked, eyeing the bottle in Rathna's hands suspiciously.

"Liquor," she said, smiling shyly. "It was still in my pack and I thought I'd share."

He moved to sit beside her. "How I supposed to know you not be tryin' to poison me?" He laughed as if the notion was ludicrous. Maybe it was. Trolls is hard to kill!

Rathna smiled. _If I could, troll, I would. Maybe._ "I'll drink first," she said, and took a quick swig. As soon as it hit her throat, she nearly regretted it. It tasted like fire and rot. She handed the bottle to the troll, who eyed her for a moment, then took a long pull, smacking his lips in enjoyment.

Dried spider turned out to be pretty good, Rathna didn't think too hard about what she was eating. She knew she could not drink the alcohol and hope to pull her plan off, so she pretended to sip everytime the troll passed the bottle back to her. She had to be in control.

It weren't long before the troll's eyes became glazed, his words became slurred, and his stance unsteady. "Now, darlin'," he purred at Rathna. "We could get to know each other a little betta..."

_Now, _Rathna thought, and she pulled together all of her power, all of her knowledge, and attempted to Seduce the troll as she had been taught. To her amazement, it worked like a charm. She could feel his attention...she could feel his devotion. She knew at this moment she could order him to kill himself and he would do it. It felt amazing. _I almost wish I could do this to Derion._

"What's your name?" she whispered to the troll.

"Zul'atal," he whispered back.

"Okay...Zul'atal. You're going to help me get my friends out of here, unharmed. You are going to protect us to the best of your ability. We're going to do this as quietly as possible. You understand?"

"I will do it," the troll said, his voice taking on the heat of emotion. "Because you are my guiding star. You are the light that lights all dark ways, you are-"

_For Legion's sake, _Rathna thought in consternation. _They never told me how annoying they become when you do this._

"Come on," she hissed, cutting off the troll's litany of compliments. "Let's get her first," she said, pointing to Faerna.

The troll scooped Faerna into his arms. She stirred. "Rathna, what are you-"

"Shut up," Rathna said. "I'm saving your hide. You talk when I tell you that you can. You walk when I tell you that you must." After a long moment, Faerna nodded.

Rathna worried a bit about the guards that they had set over the other huts, but Zul'atal was apparently very talented at whatever he did. He succeeded in killing them, even with Faerna leaning on him, without raising the alarm at all. He stood by with a blank expression on his face as Rathna raced from hut to hut, untying everyone. Thandoril was in a hut by myself, and nearly screamed when she touched him. Derion and Lidia were trussed up together, and so were Donnan and Dimity. Rathna tried not to be jealous that Derion and Lidia were put together. Really, she did.

They were doing excellently. But it nearly got fouled up when Dimity ran smack into a sentinel troll in the middle of camp. Zul'atal dispatched him quickly too, but it were a close thing.

"Hey," Rathna heard someone say in Zandali. She nearly ordered Zul'atal to attack, but registered just in time that the accent was different than that of the Witherbark trolls. In the gloom she could make out the figure of a troll locked into a cage. Not Witherbark then.

"What?" she whispered back.

"Can you let me out, mon? I saw them bringin' you in earlier, but I couldn't do nutting for you. I'm Darkspear, mon! They're going to execute me!" When Rathna didn't reply, he went on. "Look, please! I know you be Alliance, but I promise I won't do nutting to you. I just want to get back to my Eriki, mon, she's probably frantic with worry over me, and she's about to have my son..."

It was the fretting over his mate that did it. Rathna swiftly crossed to the cage, and battered the lock until it shattered, the door swinging open. The Darkspear stepped out and smiled at Rathna. She eyed his mohawk. It was bright blue and nearly two feet of hair!

"Tanks, mon," he said, smiling at her. Just then, a hue and a cry went up all around the troll camp. The Witherbark had spotted them free!

"Run!" Rathna shouted. All of them, including the Darkspear troll and Zul'atal, obliged. They all coasted down the hill, away from the Witherbark camp. Every now and then, Zul'atal, or Derion, or Dimity, or even the Darkspear troll would turn and send a bolt of magic or an arrow or a dagger sailing into a Witherbark coming to recapture them.

They had run for at least a mile, maybe a mile and a half, before the Witherbark gave up. "I tink...dis is where I need to leave. I'll head for Hammafall," the Darkspear said, panting.

Rathna thought for a minute. Zul'atal still looked dazed, and apparently felt that he had to stand right next to Rathna. "Take him with you," she said to the Darkspear, shoving the Witherbark troll towards him.

The Darkspear troll looked astonished, then offended. "A Witherbark! In the Horde!"

"What's one troll, more or less?" said Rathna, too weary to argue. "Just take him. He can't go back to the village. He killed the guards! They'll execute him."

"But..."

"I SAVED YOUR LIFE," Rathna snarled. "Now I'm asking you to save his."

There was a long pause.

"Fine," the Darkspear troll said. "I'll take him. Tanks again for your help." He grabbed Zul'atal by the wrist. "Come on, mon," he said to the clearly still-dazed troll.

"She comin', too?" Zul'atal asked dreamily, pointing at Rathna. The Darkspear troll hesitated, and looked at her. She rolled her eyes.

"She gonna catch up with us later, mon," the Darkspear said gently to Zul'atal. "We gotta go now."

"Okay," Zul'atal said affably, and let the Darkspear lead him away. After a minute, they broke into a sprint.

No one said anything for several minutes. Rathna turned back to her party, who were all, even Faerna, staring at her goggle-eyed.

"What?" she shouted. I don't think it's too much of a stretch to say that she were a bit testy.

"Well done, Rathna," Donnan said unexpectantly. "I thought we were all Witherbark stew." There were murmurs of assent. Even Thandoril gave her a relieved smile.

Faerna grinned wickedly at her. She was back to her old self. "She learned it all from me," she said, breaking the last bits of tension in the group, as even Rathna laughed. It weren't that funny, but they laughed a long time. A good dose of fear will do that to a body, and no mistake. Then they, with great exhaustion, set off for Refuge Point. They reached the small camp by dawn, and every one of them slept the sleep of the dead that day and the whole night after, too.


	13. Horde Relations

Well, the party got to Refuge Point, as I told ya before, and they slept there a full day and a half to recover from their troubles. And troubles they were, what with arguin' and being captured by Witherbark trolls and Thandoril having a time of it back in the Wetlands with all those night elf chippies goin' after him and all.

The sad thing was, most of 'em lost their mounts to the Witherbark. Rathna lost her horse, Donnan his ram, and Dimity her mechanostrider. Only Lidia's warhorse and Thandoril's frostsaber had survived and made it to Refuge Point. O'course, Derion's felsteed were summoned, so it were never in much danger. He could just un-summon it, which he had done. So everyone had to double up: Rathna with Derion, Faerna with Thandoril (who were very much put out by this turn of events), and Donnan and Dimity both with Lidia. All in all, it took them a long time to reach their next stop: Southshore.

The Hillsbrad Foothills (where Southshore were located) was markedly different from the Arathi Highlands. Rathna thought it was prettier (but that might've been due to the lack of raptors). She spent a good time wondering whether or not the Witherbarks had tried to eat the raptor, and even spared a thought or two for the two trolls she'd rescued. She were rather surprised that no one in the party was upset with here for saving two trolls, but she didn't exactly want to bring it up around a bunch of people who might be wild about the Alliance.

Southshore had an odd atmosphere, Rathna thought as they approached it. Many of the town's inhabitants were millin' in the streets, along with a large number of guards. The area around the flightmaster's stables seemed to be blocked off. Everyone were out gawking like the Darkmoon Faire had just shown up.

"Wha' happened?" Donnan asked a guard, who looked as bone-weary as the party felt.

"Horde," the guard replied abruptly. She would've been a pretty woman, Rathna thought, if her eyes didn't have such dark circles underneath them. "We've been having a real problem with them lately. They've killed four flightmasters this month, and today they nearly killed this one! We've had so many this year that they're starting to all look alike! And perhaps someday we won't have one at all." She went on in one of them morbidly-delighted-ways, as a person who's seen too much evil does. "And they've been wreaking havoc in Hillsbrad itself, assassinating council members and terrifying farmers, and turning dogs rabid and all sorts of horrible things. And the worse thing is-" The guard would've undoubtedly told them every bad thing the Horde had done since the Dawn of Time if she'd been allowed to continue. As it was, a petite blonde woman interrupted her.

"Hail, travelers," she said, giving the party a winning smile. "Welcome to Southshore. I am Julie Honeywell, apprentice mage to Phin Odelic."

"I know him," Dimity said. "He taught me in Dalaran."

"Oooo, another mage!" Apprentice Honeywell said with some enthusiasm. She were an enthusiastic kind of a girl.

"Well, actually," Dimity began. Lidia kicked her. Apprentice Honeywell didn't seem to notice.

"Will you be staying long?" the woman inquired, leading them away from the talkative guard and down Southshore's main street. Rathna could see the docks ahead.

"Unfortunately not, mistress," Donnan rumbled. "We met with misfortune while in Arathi, but we could not gather all the supplies we needed in Refuge Point. We plan to rest here tonight and tomorrow head for th'Western Plaguelands."

Apprentice Honeywell shuddered delicately. "Brave to head into the heart of the prime evil here in the Kingdoms." Rathna nearly spoke upi and told her that the Scourge were bloody amateurs, but decided against it. Faerna remained silent. She had barely spoken at all since their capture and escape. Rathna were hopin' for permanent brain damage from the witch-doctor's spell, as unlikely as that were.

"Here's the inn," Apprentice Honeywell said, gesturing to one of Southshore's largest buildings. "I'd be honored if you would all come dine with me and my master tonight. We're just two buildings up-and we usually dine at seven. Farewell!" And with that, she was off.

"Who knew Southshore had its own Welcome Wagon," Derion muttered darkly. Apprentice Honeywell had known what he was, o'course, and had eyed him as if he were about to sprout horns and speak in Demonic (and warlocks weren't even going to discover that breakthrough until a few years later)! So of course he were a bit disgruntled and the like.

"She was...pleasant," Lidia said with some surprise, as if being pleasant to strangers was a new concept to her (likely it was).

The party rented rooms at the inn, and at seven o'clock sharp they were crowded on the doorstep of the cottage that Apprentice Honeywell and Phin Odelic shared. Lidia knocked at the door, and it was opened by a smiling Apprentice Honeywell. "Come in!" she exclaimed brightly.

The table was laden with roast fowl and fresh bread and fruit, steamed beans, and a generous wheel of cheese. Phil Odelic, a dark, middle-aged man, sat at the table. He stood as they entered. His expression brightened when he saw Dimity, and darkened when he saw Derion.

"I know you," he said to Derion, before the latter had even gotten a chance to sit down. "You're Derion Courdor. You were expelled from the Kirin Tor. You're a warlock," he said with a twist to his mouth.

Derion stared back at him with an unfriendly light in his eyes. "And you're Phin Odelic, and you left the Kirin Tor because they made _fun_ of you and your studies."

Phin did not reply to Derion's jibe; Apprentice Honeywell moved between them as if she could stop 'em if they really got goin'. "Please, Master," she said to Phin. "I invited them as guests."

Phin scowled at her, but said, "As you wish, apprentice," and sat back down again with a thump. "Seat yourselves," he growled to the visitors. Apprentice Honeywell looked distressed.

The meal progressed a little uncomfortably. Phin quizzed the group about their doings. Lidia and Donnan did most of the talking; Rathna got the idea that if she and Faerna opened their mouths, Phin might lose his patience. But he did notice that there were two succubizzes at the table, for sure he did. He were a sharp man, he were.

"Why," he said to Derion, "if you are the only warlock in the party, are there two summoned de-"

He was cut off by a sudden, deep BOOM. The walls of the cottage rattled. Everyone sat, frozen. In the next instant, there were many people screaming in pure terror and guards shouting, "To arms!"

The party rose, nearly as one, and rushed out of the cottage into the streets. Rathna could see many shapes riding down from up the hill-the bulky shape of orcs, the stooped figures of trolls, huge tauren, and bony Forsaken. She could hear them shouting, mostly in Orcish, "For the Horde!" Thandoril growled and shifted into his usual cat form and melded into the shadows. The riders were bearing down on the town, chasing one lone farmer who was sprinting down the main road shouting, "The Horde are coming! The Horde are coming!" The invading force caught up with him right at the edge of town, and one of them caught him in the head with the flat of a massive sword. The farmer went down as if all his bones had vanished-now don't you worry though, there ain't a spell that does that. Yet.

"That's Farmer Kent," Apprentice Honeywell said, joining them. "That always happens. Poor man, his wits are so addled."

More screams sounded from being Rathna, and she whirled around. An advance attacker, this one a Forsaken warlock, had climbed up on the roof of the inn and was cursuing everyone in sight, including the innkeeper, who had run out at first mention of an attack.

"Guards! Help me!" the innkeeper groaned, racked by the characteristic red glow of a Curse of Agony.

An orc and a troll tore by the party towards the inn, beset by three guards. The orc was saying conversationally (amazin' considering the circumstances) to the troll "Someday I'm going to find out what _Goiben Uden Lo_ means."

The troll...Rathna knew that troll, or at least she knew that two-foot-high bright-blue mohawk. The rest of her party had joined the fray by this time. Dimity was sheeping Horde member after Horde member, leaving them fair game for Faerna's devastation. Rathna wondered for a moment if Dimity would later claim those were "shadow-sheep." Then Rathna hurried off in the direction the troll had taken. She passed Thandoril, still in cat form, ripping the throat out of an unlucky Forsaken (though some of his throat were already missing). She was almost to the docks when she caught up with the troll, who was retrieving his dagger from a guard's corpse. The talkative guard from earlier. Rathna swallowed hard. "Hey!" she shouted at the troll.

He spun into a combat stance, daggers at the ready. And then he recognized her. "Hey," he replied, giving her a long, slow stare.

Rathna fixed him with an angry glare. "This is how you repay me for rescuing you?"

He looked abashed. "Dinna know you was here, mon."

Rathna was incensed. "Me AND my friends! Why are you even DOING this?"

He looked even more embarrassed. "We got bored."

"Bored?" Rathna nearly shrieked. "When you're BORED, you...I don't know, READ...or play a GAME, or something. For the LOVE OF SARGERAS!...Can you call this off?" Battle raged around them.

The troll wouldn't even meet her eyes, now. "Yes," he said, almost inaudibly. "It's my guild. I mean...I'm guild master."

Rathna could've slapped him. "Then do so! Right now!" She refrained from adding any insults, though she thought of plenty. The two began to walk back up the hill.

"Fall back!" the troll kept calling. "Fall back!" The battle began to disintegrate, the Horde running for their mounts if they had dismounted, or heading for the hills if they had not. Many of the Southshore residents were too wounded to pursue them. Rathna and the troll made it to the edge of town unchallenged.

"By de way, my name be Javi," the troll said. "What's yours?"

"Ra...lina," Rathna said quickly. See, she had gotten too smart to give folks her real name.

The troll chuckled. "Well, Ralina...I'll withdraw my forces, an' keep 'em away from ya friends. Good ta see ya again." He turned to fade into the trees.

"Hey Javi?"

He turned back around. "Ya, mon?"

Rathna was hesitant. "What happened to...my friend...you know, the troll you rescued. Zul'atal."

Javi gave her a dark look. "He be messed up in the head, mon. We lef' him in Tarren Mill. I dunno what you did ta him, but he funny. You have a love for life, Ralina." With that, he disappeared.

Rathna walked back down the road towards Southshore, nearly colliding with a tauren shaman who was being pursued by Thandoril (still in his cat form. Boy loved him some cat form).

"STOP!" the tauren bellowed in Common. She stopped suddenly, by the motionless figure of Farmer Kent. Thandoril skidded to a halt, nearly knocking the shaman into Rathna. The shaman suddenly glowed green, and the green glow spread to Farmer Kent, whose eyes flew open.

"There. WE'RE SORRY!" the shaman called out, still in Common, to the town below. Then she turned and dashed away as if her feet (or hooves, really) were on fire.

Thandoril tore his eyes away and shifted back into his night elf form. Farmer Kent had gotten to his hands and knees, at least. "Come with me," the druid said to Rathna, and his tone brooked no argument, like your mum's when you're really in trouble big. Rathna hung her head and followed at his heels.

Her breath caught as they neared the inn. Derion's head rested in Donnan's lap. His eyes were closed, and his middle was bloody. He didn't seem to be breathing...

Faerna caught Rathna and steadied her as her knees gave way. Thandoril skittered away. "Love must be a horrible thing," Faerna breathed into Rathna's ear. "Unless you're just feeling squeamish?"

Lidia rushed through the crowd. Rathna almost broke free of Faerna's grip. She weren't going to let that slattern near Derion in his final moments...but Faerna didn't let go. "Watch," she said, sounding amused.

A nimbus of holy light had surrounded Lidia. She was kneeling beside Derion, her hands on his head. The glow grew, encompassing them both. Derion's eyes opened. "Lidia?" he said in a hoarse whisper. He charged the word with so much devotion that Rathna's heart broke a little bit more.

Lidia stood up and looked down at him dispassionately. In a trice, the townsfolk were besiegin' here with requests for healing. She signed wearily. Donnan got himself and Derion both upright. Then Lidia spotted Rathna and thrust Derion toward her. "Succubus," she said. "Make yourself useful. Get some hot food in him, then get him in bed." A wicked smile spread across Lidia's face at the double entendre.

"Yeah," Rathna replied, too heartbroken to care. (At any other time she would've muttered something like, "I am being useful, you stupid cow," but her spirit was gone for the moment. You know how it is.) Lidia and Donnan disappeared into the crowd.

Derion let himself be guided into the inn, but he asked Rathna, "Where...where did Lidia go? She...she saved...my life."

_Because she wants you to help her get a damn staff, _Rathna thought. But she made sure he got his meal, and tucked him into bed. Then she went to her own room and cried herself, poor thing, to sleep.


	14. The Journey to Chillwind

Well, where I last left ya, the Little Party That Could had just survived a Horde attack on the village of Southshore. In fact, our girl Rathna was the prime mover in gettin' the attack stopped. But of course, she had her heart ripped out again, seein' Derion's love for Lidia. They stayed in Southshore for a couple of days, waiting for Derion to recover his strength. Lidia mostly ignored him, but that seemed to make Derion's ardor burn brighter. Rathna was the one who mostly nursed him, but after the sixth or seventh time Derion asked her where Lidia was, she stomped her way out of his room and down the hall to Donnan's.

"Enter," he said at her knock on his door. Rathna stalked into the room and pointed a finger at Donnan.

"I may be his succubus," she growled, "but I am not the only member of this party, and someone else can nurse that idiot back to health! You hear me, Donnan? Someone else!" And with that, she stalked out again, lashing her tail like a kicked cat, upsetting things in his room with the agitated beating of her wings. Donnan stared after her in amazement.

After that, Rathna mostly spent time on the docks, staring out to sea, and making the Southshore fishermen nervous. Sometimes Thandoril joined her on the docks, never sitting too close, but nodding to her if she ever looked his way. She was too heart-weary to be astonished at his sudden friendliness.

Finally, Derion were well, and the party assembled themselves to leave. Almost the whole town (the ones that weren't maimed, or burnt, or dead) showed up to see them off. Apprentice Honeywell detached herself from the crowd, while Master Odelic glowered in the background.

"My master and I made this for you," she said, eyes shining, handing over an amulet to Donnan. "Unfortunately, we only had time to make one, but-it protects the wearer from physical or magical harm for a few minutes once it's activated. However, you can only activate it once or twice or so a day. We've not been able to test it thoroughly. Use it with care."

Rathna heard Derion snort, "Kirin Tor," but it didn't sound as contemptuous as she thought it should've. Y'know, Derion was one of those who raged against the mage-ine, you see. See what I did there? Rage against the mage-ine! ...oh come on, you gotta admit that's funny.

At any rate, the party cut across Hillsbrad as far as they could from Tarren Mill, at Donnan's insistence.

"We might not get so lucky agai'," he said, with a smile directed at Rathna. "Yer troll friends may've moved on to greener pastures."

"There aren't greener pastures than here," Dimity pointed out, in complete seriousness.

"Wee imbecile! Dunna interrupt me!" Donnan roared, but not without affection. Dimity took it in stride.

It was a long journey, that route they took, and Donnan wouldn't even let any of them dismount, though he wouldn't let them push their mounts too hard. They even ate in the saddle.

It was a day and a half they rode, until they reached the borders of the Western Plaguelands...and just beyond that, Chillwind Camp. It was twilight, and ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggedy beasties rustled in the shadows. At one point, a couple o'zombies shambled onto the path, their mouths open, their jaws completely gone, their eyes vacant of any life beyond the kind that exists only to rend, tear, and kill...

A blaze of fire, Rathna saw then, that hit the zombies, joined by the sickening purple of shadow, and the bright blue-and-gold shapes of a judgment. The zombies were nothing more than small smears on the ground after being hit by three separate spells. Donnan, Dimity, and Derion all looked satisfied with themselves. Thandoril, as usual, looked bored. Lidia looked sickening; Rathna felt almost a kinship with the woman, then squashed it down. _No. She's horrible. No sympathy for __**her.**_ Faerna eyed Rathna sideways, then smiled.

They reached Chillwind Camp shortly after that, with no further incident. Grooms, all wearing the sun-emblazoned tabards of the Argent Dawn, hurried to take their mounts, but stopped at the approach of another.

"Who comes here?" said an imposing, dark-skinned human, striding up. "I am Ashlam Valorfist, leader of this camp. Are you mercenaries? Refugees?"

Donnan pushed back his hood, "Greetins and suchlike, Commander Valorfist. Dunna if you remember me, but I am Donnan Bronzebeard, and leader of this party. Such as they are." Almost everyone in the party looked insulted.

Commander Valorfist managed a small smile. "Indeed I remember you, Childe Bronzebeard. I had such high hopes that you would join the Argent Dawn after the...after your order...disbanded."

Donnan's face was impassive. "My path led me another way," he said. "But we are on our way to the Eastern Plaguelands, and need lodgin', and a few more supplies, and rest for us and our mounts. Might we take advantage of your hospitality?"

"Of course, of course," Valorfist said, waving his hand. The grooms sprang into motion again, grabbing the mounts as the party dismounted and leading them off to the horselines.

"I'm afraid I don't know your companions," Valorfist said, more gently, as they began to walk into camp together.

"**You **might not know them, Commander, but **I **do," said an unfamiliar voice. Rathna wheeled around, along with the entire party, to see who was speaking. It was a dark-haired, well-built man. He had a rather sardonic smile on his face.

"Weldon," the Commander said warningly. The man called Weldon strode forward, his smile never leaving his face, nor touching his eyes.

"That one," he said, pointing at Derion, "used to be the famous mage, Derion Courdor, and is now the infamous warlock-Derion Courdor." (Weldon were into ominous and theatrical phrases-which meant he often just sounded like a buffoon.)

"I knew at least one warlock was in this party, Weldon," the Commander said wearily, "as there are demons. And we have not turned away anyone's help, for all of us are children of the light, and we may serve the light in our own ways." He were a very good man, really.

"Perhaps so," Weldon said, showing his teeth in what he obviously thought was a winning smile, "but I am better acquainted with that one" and he pointed at Lidia. "That lovely lady there is none other than Lidia Cortello, the best alchemist the world can offer you. And my one-time lover."

Lidia looked furious. Derion looked poleaxed. Rathna felt like all her Winter Veils had come at once.

**Author's Note: I am so sorry it took me so long to update! I actually quit playing World of Warcraft in early September, for many reasons, and so I didn't feel much like writing about it for awhile-even though I had most of this story fleshed out. I will be finishing it before the New Year, but I have to get through the last two weeks of my semester first. I have written the first couple of chapters of a sequel that takes place during The Burning Crusade, and I have also written a stand-alone story that takes place at the same time as the sequel. So, barring further incidents, December and January will mean a lot more new writing from me! As always, thank you for your reviews and kind words. It's a pleasure to write this, but a bigger pleasure to get critiqued and know you all enjoy it.**


	15. In Chillwind Camp

Derion whirled around to Lidia, who stood mute at Weldon's words. "Is it true, Lidia? Were you once involved with this...with Master Barov?" Everyone, even Thandoril, was riveted. A stampede of Tauren couldn't have torn them away.

Lidia tore her eyes away from Weldon and looked at Derion. Rathna could see her considering and discarding several replies (_All of them lies, probably_, Rathna thought) until she merely sighed and said, "Yes. It's true." Weldon chuckled, a dirty little sound in his throat, and lazily sidled up to Lidia, sliding an arm around her waist.

"It was about, oh, four or five years back," he told Derion smugly, while Lidia looked terribly uncomfortable. "I was visiting Stormwind, an unusual errand for me, and I met Lidia at one of the taverns. She wasn't supposed to be there, you see, but she had slipped out. We talked for a long time. She was barely more than a girl, and she knew that prat Gilderas Lightbough would be looking for her. She slipped off back to her manor, and I followed her. Once it got late, I threw stones at her window, she came to the window and invited me in, I climbed the trellis, and...well." Weldon's grin was proprietary.

Derion looked a bit horrified. Lidia was crimson, and staring at the ground. Dimity looked thoughtful, Thandoril scandalized, and Faerna amused. Rathna quickly shifted her gaze to Donnan, who had begun to take on a look similar to a thunderhead. _Figures. He treats her like she's half his daughter, anyway. _Even Captain Valorfist seemed engrossed.

Weldon's smile became more of a leer. "I don't know why you're worried about it, Courdor, what with not one but two succubi following you..."

Dimity spoke up then, her shrill voice at odds with her surprisingly firm tone. "One of those succubi is mine, not Derion's."

Weldon frowned at her. "And you are?"

"Dimity Sparks," she told him proudly. "First in my class at Dalaran! Er...at least in some of my classes."

Weldon began laughing. "Wait a minute. You were a mage? And now you're a warlock? Is that why you've sewn skulls on everything you own? And this succubus," he pointed to Faerna, "is supposed to be following around a teeny little pink-haired little gnome girl mage?" Faerna glowered at Weldon. "You have to be joking!"

"I am NOT joking," Dimity said, drawing herself up to her full height and staring Weldon down as best she could. "I summoned her myself, and-"

"Are you bothering guests, Weldon?" a mild voice interjected. "You should know better than that." The owner of the voice came into view, and Rathna nearly groaned.

It was a draenei, a male of about middle years, of normal stature. He had two thick braids of hair thrown over each shoulder, and his eyes gleamed with patience and knowledge. Draenei, as many of you probably know, were huge enemies of demons from the Burning Legion, starting many, many centuries before our time. It is a long story in the telling, so I won't bother now. But the draenei had good reason to hate demons. Or at least most demons. "Welcome to Chillwind Camp. I am Anchorite Truuen."

The draenei suddenly became aware of the succubis and stiffened. "There are warlocks with your party?" he asked Thandoril, who looked alarmed at being addressed.

"We have uh...two...warlocks traveling with us," Thandoril answered slowly, trying not to look at Dimity. Rathna nearly smiled. "They are valiant members of our party, and their summoned demons have been most...helpful." Rathna's smile disappeared. _You could have been more convincing, you pointy-eared purple-skinned idiot._

"I see." The draenei's luminescent blue eyes took in all of them, lingering longest on Rathna and Faerna. "I am afraid that to me, there can be no pact with demons. They are all dangerous, even those that look tame. Even those that seem friendly." His eyes bored into Rathna. "They are not like us. They are other, and tainted forever. But if Captain Valorfist," he inclined his head to the man, "has welcomed you, then I suppose I must as well." With that, he turned and strode back into the falling darkness. Weldon had already managed to slime off somewhere, in the way of all slimy people. They're like slugs, only you can't pour salt on them to get rid of 'em.

"Well," Lidia breathed. "That was certainly interesting."

"It is always interesting, being around you," Derion said wryly, not with the affection that he would have used hours earlier. Rathna felt encouraged, despite Truuen's words.

"Who was that...blue person?" Dimity asked. Before Rathna could answer, Faerna jumped in.

"A draenei," she said with just the slightest hint of contempt. "They used to be the eredar, of the planet Argus."

"Eredar? That's a type of demon, isn't it?" Lidia asked. See, she were more than just the pretty face sometimes.

Faerna's expression did not change. "It has been for a very long, long time."

"Why?" Dimity asked. Faerna hesitated. Rathna dreaded giving the answer, until Derion gave it for them.

"Because," Derion said brusquely, "because the Burning Legion took over. Because they are the powers of destruction, and you can't tamper with those without being changed. As you should know, if you call yourself a warlock." With that, he turned and walked away from the group.

A couple of hours later found them clustered around a fire, even Derion, after just eating a hearty meal. Captain Valorfist and Alexia Ironknife, another dwarf who seemed to have heard of Donnan, had joined them around the fire. Anchorite Truuen, true to his word, was nowhere to be seen.

Valorfist and Ironknife were relating stories of battling the Scourge in the area, of giant diseased animals having to be put down, even of dealing with Horde attempts to kill Weldon Barov (Rathna thought that last one might be a mercy for everyone), when suddenly there was a huge hue and cry from the edges of the camp.

"HELP! ASSASSINS HAVE COME TO KILL ME!" That was Weldon's voice. Valorfist sighed as he sprang to his feet.

"I hope this is actual Horde assassins this time. It's only one out of about every three, honestly." He began to trot toward the sound of Weldon's voice, and the party followed him.

"What is it usually?" Lidia asked anxiously. She was gripping her staff tightly.

Valorfist sighed. "Usually? Weldon gets drunk and gets into fights with people only he can see...oh look! It is Horde this time!"

Several Horde, mostly orcs and trolls with a few Tauren and Forsaken, had encircled Weldon and were firing at him-but he was being protected by the camp's priestess, who had cast bubbles around him and her trying to protect them both from various axes, arrows, fireballs, frostbolts, and curses being thrown their way. Rathna looked at the attackers again, and with a sinking feeling, recognized two trolls by their signature hairstyles...

"JAVI!" she shouted. "ZUL'ATAL! WHAT. ARE. YOU. DOING. HERE."

The Horde members mostly looked around, surprised, including the two trolls, but a few, mostly Forsaken, kept attacking. Rathna heaved a deep breath, then went stalking into the fray, shouting the entire time.

"Are you following me? Were you put on Azeroth to plague me, or was I summoned to Azeroth just to be plagued by you? Do you have to attack every place I go to, or was this just a lucky guess?" She was fully enraged by now, and speaking Orcish at a lightning-fast pace, and the last remaining attacking Horde members were stopping to stare at her, open-mouthed. So were the Alliance, for that matter. She stopped in front of Javi and stared into his eyes.

"Ra...Ralina?" he stammered, licking his lips. "I...can no believe you be here too! I could be askin' you de same tings." He looked at her sideways. "We was just..."

"We was killin' Weldon Barov!" Zul'atal shouted joyfully. He still had obviously not recovered from the night Rathna had "rescued" him from his own people. "We be gettin' a surprise if we do!"

"Then I'll have to kill you," Rathna said patiently. Zul frowned. "My master will make me do it."

"I don't know about that," Derion said loudly. "It is Weldon, after all." There were small snickers from the Alliance and the handful of Horde that seemed to know Common. Weldon looked insulted.

"Javi, please," Rathna said urgently. "Please just leave. Please." They stared at each other for a moment, both considering.

"I'll make them leave!" Weldon suddenly shouted, making everyone jump. He ran at the nearest Horde, a Forsaken mage by the looks of him, and buried his axe in the undead man's head. The Forsaken let out a howl, and the battle began anew, Horde versus Alliance. Spells were flying everywhere, and the Alliance were vastly outnumbered. Rathna broke from the circle and ran towards Derion...or where Derion had been. The party had scattered.

Suddenly, Rathna was caught hard from behind and whirled around to stare into the silvery eyes of Faerna, alight with wickedness and treachery.

"I've got her," Faerna said, gesturing to Dimity, who was demonically-bound. Faerna held her by the wrist, but Dimity's arms were lashed to her sides and her mouth was locked shut by an unseen force. Rathna felt a chill. She looked at Faerna in shock-and Faerna's mouth twisted. "You'll either come with me, Rathna, to join our brothers in the Eastern Plaguelands," she said softly and sweetly, "or when we come back I'll make sure that Derion dies in front of you." Rathna's mouth worked in horror. "You know I will," Faerna continued. "So if you really love him, you pathetic wretch...you'll do as I say."

No one noticed, in all the ruckus, the three people departing on one horse. No one but Anchorite Truuen, and he only sighed and said to himself, "I was right."


	16. Return to the Legion

Last time I left off, the Horde had attacked Chillwind Camp, where our intrepid Alliance party had bivouackin' and suchlike. Faerna being Faerna, she had used the commotion to abduct Dimity and used a threat on Derion's life to coerce Rathna into fleeing with her. Of course, Faerna didn't call it "fleeing"-she called it "following the directive." She was attempting to convert Rathna back to believing in the glories of the Burning Legion, which seem mostly to be how many things they can set on fire at one time. Rathna had mostly tuned her out the entire journey to the Eastern Plaguelands. They had turned at the river Thorondoril and were pushing their horses hard to reach the Burning Legion camp by sunrise, said to be set in the very shadow of the great floating necropolis of Naxxramas.

Dimity, trussed up on Faerna's stolen mount, was strangely silent. She had a determined look. Rathna genuinely hoped that the gnome wouldn't do anything stupid. Despite Dimity's delusions, she was a sweet if strange gnome, and Rathna hoped she could get them through this safely, though her heart doubted it.

Rathna, for her part, was terrified not just for Dimity, but for the rest of the party, even Lidia. Sort of. Grudgingly. And for herself. She had not exactly DEFIED the Legion, but she hadn't really been advancing their cause either. And Faerna knew she were in love with Derion. She hoped Faerna were feelin' merciful.

Even though the landscape was treacherous and polluted with the undead and the plagued, the journey was much shorter than Rathna would've liked. O'course, she thought of Derion the whole time. She wondered if he hated her now. She wondered if Faerna would keep her promise, but half-knew Faerna wouldn't know how to keep an honorable promise if she'd had a manual.

As expected, the camp was guarded at its entrance by three huge infernals. Rathna's heart leapt; if one or more of the infernals were the overseer of the camp, then she could easily devise a plan to rescue herself and Dimity. Infernals ain't known for their intelligence, probably because the fire they're made up burns all their brains up. But her hopes were dashed when a gigantic doom guard sauntered up to the entrance.

"I am Doom Lord Zertek," he announced, "leader of this camp, left hand of Lord Balnazzar himself. State your names and your purpose."

Rathna's heart sank into a deeper mire than Dustwallow Marsh. Doom guards are quite intelligent and powerful and tend to a policy of "incinerate first, ask questions later." In fact, it takes a warlock and three others, usually other warlocks or mages, in order to summon and bind one, and even then the doom guard usually kills a member of the circle (generally the mage if there is one; warlocks these days make a game out of it and call it "Whack-a-Mage." But I digress.)

Faerna dismounted and bowed very low. With a suppressed sigh, Rathna did the same.

"Sister Faerna, Succubus of the Third Rank, bringing in new blood." She nodded at Dimity, whose face was suddenly like stone.

"Oh, a mage," Zertek said happily. "That's going to be helpful."

Rathna saw Dimity's lips move, heard the gnome say, with great strain, "I am no longer a mage."

Zertek looked taken aback. "Then what are you?"

Dimity faced him, eyes cold, face impassive. Despite herself, Rathna was impressed. Few could look a doom guard in the eye and not quail. Dimity was one tough little thing.

"I am a warlock," the gnome said.

Zertek stared at Dimity for a moment, then burst into laughter. "Oh no," he said, holding his sides and choking out the words, "you are no warlock. I can tell you that for certain."

"I summoned her," Dimity said, pointing at Faerna. "Who else summons demons but a warlock?"

"Actually," Faerna said with a restrained kind of glee. "You didn't summon me at all."

Dimity refused to cave. Even the infernals were amused, though with them it can be a bit hard to tell.

"I was chanting and I had the correct circles inscribed on the floor with the precise runes and candles made from the fat of a black sow born at midnight on-"

"It doesn't matter if you painted pentagrams on the walls with the blood of a virgin or wore a goat's head mask blessed by the Cult of the Damned," Faerna said, rather more patiently than usual. "You are not a warlock. You don't have the knack. I sent myself to you, by orders of the Burning Legion, to corrupt you to our service."

"You didn't corrupt me-" Dimity began, but Zertek interrupted.

"She may not have," he said calmly, "but you will serve us anyway. Take her," he said to a pair of roaming felguards, "but do not harm her unless she resists. Put her in a tent with a felhound so she can't use her magic. We'll decide how best to use her once I consult with Lord Balnazzar."

One of the felguards grabbed Dimity, holding her as if she weighed no more than a...than a gnome...and they took her off. Zertek watched them go for a moment, shaking his head. The small crowd of demons that had gathered to watch the little scene began to dissipate as he turned back to Faerna and Rathna. This time, he spoke in Demonic.

"And you?" he asked Rathna, eyeing her long, human-style woolen dress with distaste. She bowed again, and replied in Demonic.

"Sister Rathna, Succubus of the First Rank, at your service."

"And you do not also bring a captive?"

"She brings better," Faerna said, saving her. "She has intelligence regarding not just an actual warlock, but also a priest, paladin, and a druid." Rathna tried not to gape at Faerna. Or kick her.

"Hmmm," Zertek said, rubbing his chin and gazing at Rathna thoughtfully. "We'd probably have to kill the paladin, but maybe not the others. Though a corrupted paladin...that would be something. Do you know where they are?"

"We have reason to believe that they will be near Stratholme within the week," Faerna said. "The warlock let that slip to Rathna during...er...pillow talk."

Zertek looked impressed. "A successful Seduction?" he boomed. "That's generally worth a promotion, that is. Well done, Sister Rathna! And if we successfully take the others, you may well end up with another promotion, both you and Sister Faerna! Extremely well done. Go and make yourself comfortable." He turned to go.

"Please, Lord Zertek?" Rathna said. He turned back around. "Who...who do you plan to send out to...take them?"

"One of the 'cleaners,' I think," he replied dismissively. "No need to worry your pretty head about it further." With that, he departed. Rathna's heart, already low, sank to ankle level. "Cleaners" were...and are...some of the worst, most violent demons ever to exist. They were mighty fighters and could dispatch many mortals with a single blow. However, they were stupid. I mean, really thick. That was why there were so very few of them-they were very good at killing themselves in stupid ways (even with their prowess, taking on a dozen mortals at once was a good way to get killed). Rathna was worried...and then she saw a familiar shape in the crowd. Faerna had already disappeared. Rathna raced through the press of demons and caught the small figure by the arm.

"Daznok!" she cried. "What are you doing here?"

"Master Derion doesn't keep me summoned all the time," he said sullenly, trying to free himself from her grasp. But Rathna weren't having it.

"Oh no you don't," she said. "You are NOT getting away. You're still in service to Derion. They're going to capture him!"

Daznok rolled his eyes. "I am a member of the Burning Legion, Rathna. As are you. Now let me go."

"You know if they capture him that you'll not be able to go 'outside' until your next assignment. They may even send you back to the Twisting Nether. It may be years 'til your next assignment," Rathna said levelly. "That means no beer, no ale, and no whiskey. And no sausages of any kind, either," she added, when he looked about to argue. "AND no busty tavern maids to pinch," she put in, remembering Booty Bay and Southshore.

Daznok stared at her for a long moment before saying, "All right. I take your point. What d'ya want me to do?"

"Can you phase shift others as well as yourself?" Rathna asked.

"Sometimes," Daznok replied carefully. "If they're not much bigger. I can't phase shift YOU," he added disdainfully.

"I don't want you to phase shift ME," Rathna replied coldly. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "I want you to phase shift Dimity. Meet me tonight at the tent where they're keeping her, after full dark."

"What's in it for me, just so I know?" Daznok asked.

"I'll buy you...all the ale you want," Rathna said, improvising wildly. "And...more freedom. I can promise you that." She knew that imps' lives with the Legion were very strict. Every other demon stood above them in rank.

Daznok looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. "Full dark then? I'll be there. On one condition."

Rathna was surprised. "One more condition? Very well. What is it?"

Daznok's grin could not have been more naughty. "That the first 'girl' I get to pinch is you."

Rathna very nearly sighed. But sometimes you have to take the allies you can get, and you have to take them the way they come. "It is agreed."


End file.
